On The Flip Side
by KittyUK
Summary: The perfect couple got married, but what happened afterwards? And what does living alongside perfection do to everyone else? Sequel to "Theory of Everything" Stingy/Trixie, Sport/Steph, Robbie/OC. Would love you to R&R, especially now it's COMPLETE!YAHOO!
1. Chapter 1 Glad I Crashed The Wedding

**Chapter One - Glad I Crashed The Wedding**

"All right, then," said Reverend Rottenwell, sighing, "there's obviously no hope for either of you. That's it. You're married, God help us all. Who's got the rings?"

"That would be me," said Stingy, taking a small white leather box out of his waistcoat pocket. The Reverend held out his hand. Stingy looked at him for a moment, then winked at Trixie before smiling broadly and announcing, "I'm sorry, Reverend Rottenwell, but I can't let you have these, because they're…"

"MINE!" chorused the entire wedding party, laughing and applauding.

Trixie and Stingy rolled their eyes at each other as Sportacus drew Stephanie into his arms and kissed her, slowly, deeply and completely un-self-consciously, as if they were totally alone, rather than standing in front of their closest friends on their wedding day.

_Christ_, Stingy mouthed to her.

_Hot_, Trixie mouthed back with a wink.

--

"I just think it's a bit much," said Stingy gloomily. He was seated on one of the white wicker chairs that had materialised out of nowhere as the party got under way, and Trixie sat at his feet with her legs curled under her, pensively eating fruit. She had taken off the strict-looking, four-inch-high black patent shoes that he found so disturbingly sexy, and he could see her dainty white feet, the toenails painted red, wriggling with the pleasure of freedom. They were watching Stephanie and Sportacus dancing together.

"I mean," Stingy continued, "I'm glad they're together and everything, but are they going to be like this _all the time_ from now on? I think I preferred it when they just took it in turns to stare longingly at each other."

"You're a prude, Stingy," said Trixie. "They're completely and hopelessly in love. It's their wedding day. This is something they've both wanted and dreamed about for years. Neither of them ever thought it was going to happen. Now it has and they're completely thrilled about it. Isn't that how it's supposed to be?" She reached into his waistcoat pocket. "God, you must be the last man on earth who actually owns a handkerchief." She wiped the juice from her peach off her fingers and offered it back to him. He grimaced.

"Keep it, Trix, it's yours….honestly, they haven't stopped smiling from the moment they set eyes on each other this morning. He can hardly keep his hands off her."

Trixie laughed and shrugged.

"So how you do think it ought to be, then, Stingy? What would they have had to do to meet with your approval?"

"They didn't need to kiss for quite that long at the altar," he said firmly. "A few seconds would have been fine. And a little bit less of full-on snog, that would have been good. And the way they're dancing together now, it's - God, it's verging on foreplay."

"Oh, it so is not," said Trixie firmly. "I don't know what sort of foreplay _you_ like to indulge in -"

("Actually, you kind of do," Stingy interjected, _sotto voce_)

"- but holding each other on the dance floor and kissing occasionally doesn't qualify in anyone else's book."

"Oh, all right, I admit it. I _am_ a prude. I'm an uptight, boring, old-fashioned prude. It's just…it's just a bit much in public, that's all."

"Stingy, you are so _middle-aged_ it's just not true!" squealed Trixie.

"I seem to remember you begging them to stop, too," said Stingy defensively.

"Well, okay," said Trixie, laughing. "But that was just to tease them. _You _actually meant it…But then you never were into public displays of affection, were you?" Trixie picked up a strawberry and nibbled the end of it between her sharp white teeth, looking at him over the top of it.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

She uncoiled herself from the grass and popped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth.

"Don't try and act like you don't remember, Stingy," she said. He felt his heart skip a beat and reached out to touch her, but she was gone, her shoes dangling from her fingertips as she weaved her way in between the couples on the dance floor.

--

"Freshen that up for you, Mrs Meanswell?" a voice murmured in her ear. She turned around and found the Reverend Rottenwell standing just behind her. He raised his eyebrows and showed her the bottle of gin he had tucked away under his robe.

Her whole mouth went dry with longing and remembrance. She could still remember every detail; the beautiful glass bottles it came in (they were mostly green, but her very favourite, the one she had drunk all the time in Metropolis, came in a bottle of the most seductive mid-blue - the colour of her eyes, a bar-tender had told her once); the faint crackle as you poured it over and the ice began to melt; the sharpness of the lime when you sliced it open and cut a thick, voluptuous wedge. The _pssst_ of the tonic water when you opened a perfectly fresh bottle, frosted with condensation, that you had taken from the very back of the fridge. The way tiny fragments of lime pulp got caught on the rim of the glass as you carefully wiped the wedge around it before dropping it into the bubbles. The smooth cold silkiness of the first mouthful. The shiver of bliss on the back of your neck when you swallowed…

She shook her head, afraid to speak in case the words that came out of her mouth were _yes, please_.

"You sure? I imagine you could _do_ with it, on a day like this," he drawled, unscrewing the cap and taking an ostentatious mouthful. She turned away so that she wouldn't catch the smell, that bitter, dry, sloes-and-aromatics smell that spoke straight to the darkest places of her soul.

"If the Mayor sees you with that, he'll have you run out of town," she said with difficulty.

"Oh, surely not, not on his niece's wedding day," he said. "You sure I can't _tempt_ you? Oh, well maybe another time…well, I guess Sportacusfinally got what he wanted, hmmm? Despite your _very best efforts_ to prevent it…"

"Stephanie's happy," said Bessie firmly. "That's what matters. She's going back to the Conservatoire, she still has another year to go. After that…well, they'll be used to living apart during the week. I'm sure he'll understand if she wants to work in Metropolis. There are a number of excellent dance companies, plenty of shows…"

"You know she's pregnant, of course?" he said casually, taking another mouthful from the bottle.

She looked at him in shock.

"Oh, you mean you _didn't_ know? I would have thought you'd be the _first _one they told, with you being so much like a mother to her…" He smiled in satisfaction at the look of pain in her eyes: of course she hadn't known. He would never have known himself if he hadn't heard that retired teacher (_where _had_ Barbie met her? _he wondered idly to himself) talking to Pixel. After that, it was easy to keep one eye on the two of them, and catch that unmistakable gesture of pride and possessiveness, as he laid his hand lovingly against her belly and they smiled at each other.

"You did _know_ what they were _doing_ all those nights up there in that air-ship, of course?" he continued, enjoying the look on her face. "I hope you didn't imagine he's quite enough of a hero to wait for the wedding-night? After all, it would be a little bit more than flesh and blood could be expected to stand, don't you think - that pretty young girl all willing and eager in his arms? And having succumbed to each other once, it would be a bit _strange_ if they didn't take _every opportunity _to repeat it. Then, once you've started on the primrose path, it's just a question of probabilities, don't you think? You play with matches, eventually you get burned…unless it was _planned_, of course, but at only just eighteen it seems unlikely…" He held out the bottle again. "Are you absolutely _sure_ I can't tempt you?"

She gave a sob of mortification and fled.

"So shines a good deed in a naughty world," Reverend Rottenwell said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should take up telling unpleasant truths as my new hobby." He returned to his hammock to finish his snooze.

--

"Have you seen Trixie?" Stingy asked Pixel urgently. He looked in disgust at the cluster of wires and plastic in Pixel's hands. "Honestly, Pixel, can't you _ever_ switch off?"

"I just like to keep busy," said Pixel. "I've nearly finished that new earpiece we were talking about, the one for the Voicemaster. You know you said you wanted to get rid of the headsets before we went to the mobile companies with the idea."

"Yeah, but I didn't mean you had to work on it at our friends' wedding." Pixel shrugged and jiggled a wire around in a hole. "Honestly, if they hadn't invented the silicon chip, I swear you'd just spend your days sitting in a rocking-chair whittling sticks. You're obsessed…so, _have_ you seen Trixie?"

"She was heading off over to the airship with a bunch of tin cans and a whole lot of stuff in paper bags," said Pixel. "What did you want her for?"

"Just to…we were talking about something," said Stingy vaguely.

"You mean you were arguing," replied Pixel. "Honestly, you're a fine one to tell me about how to behave at a wedding."

"Oh, get back to your whittling," said Stingy irritably, stalking off.

--

"Bessie?" Milford put his hand gently on her shoulder, bewildered and concerned. "What's the matter?"

She raised her face to him, and he saw that her mascara had run and there were tracks through her foundation where the tears had run.

"Oh, Milford," she whispered. "Do you think we've made a terrible mistake by letting them get married?"

"What do you mean?" He sat down beside her and put his arm around her. "I thought you were happy about it? And you know, there really wasn't anything we could do to stop them. Look at her, she's so happy. He'll take care of her for ever, you know he will." He kissed her cheek softly. "He might not be who you would have chosen for her, dearest, but he's who she chose. We have to be happy for them."

"But - but - " she wiped her cheeks. _Perhaps he was wrong. He might just be trying to make trouble, he's always liked to do that…_"You're right, Milford. I'm sorry, I'm just a silly old woman crying at a wedding. Can you pass me my handbag?"

--

He bumped into her on the dance-floor. She had a look on her face like the cat that got the cream.

"What are you looking so pleased about?" he asked her suspiciously.

"Come and dance with me, Stingy," she said, smiling disarmingly up at him.

"Only if you tell me why you're smiling like that," he said, putting his arm around her and sweeping her away as the music changed to a waltz.

He could see the laughter bubbling up in her like champagne out of a bottle.

"I've just been up to the airship," she said. "I thought it could do with a bit of… _redecoration_. In honour of the day…"

"Oh for God's sake, Trix…what did you do?"

She stood on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear. He looked down at her in disbelief, trying hard not to laugh in case she thought he was approving.

"Why on earth would you do _that_? That's just _evil_, Trixie. It's their wedding night, for God's sake. They're going to be really unimpressed when they realise it was you - "

"Oh, come on," she said, laughing up at him. "It'll give them something to think about. Anyway, it serves them right for scuttling off from their own wedding at half-past six in the afternoon without even stopping to say goodbye."

"What are you talking about?"

"I saw him carrying her up into the airship about ten minutes ago."

"You take an unhealthy interest in them," Stingy warned her. "If I didn't know better…"

"And what makes you think you _do_ know better?" Trixie teased him.

"I remember what you like," he said. "And it's certainly nothing as apple-pie-with-vanilla-ice-cream as those two are." He meant it to sound light-hearted, but his voice was suddenly thick. She glanced up at him through her thick dark eyelashes and for a moment neither of them spoke.

"Hey, Stingy," said Pixel down his ear, "Can I borrow you for a minute?"

Stingy stopped dancing and turned to his friend in exasperation.

"What is it?" he asked shortly.

"Can you just try this earpiece for me?"

"Does it really have to be right now?"

"It's okay, Stingy," said Trixie mockingly. "The path to millionairehood isn't an easy one. I'll catch up with you when I know I've got your undivided attention."

"But you _had_ my undivided - never mind," he muttered, as she disappeared. Within seconds she was dancing with LJ, one of his friends (_or one of Pixel's friends_, he corrected himself grimly) from MIT, who liked to hide his basic geekiness beneath the rather unconvincing disguise of a Californian surfer.

"Just put it in for a minute," coaxed Pixel. Stingy shrugged and put it in his ear.

"Can you hear me?" Pixel asked.

"Yes! Amazing!" said Stingy sarcastically. "And from only three feet away!"

Pixel fiddled with a button on his jacket lapel.

"How about now?"

"Hey, is that the new transmitter?" Stingy examined it closely. "That's actually pretty good. Very discreet…are you sure the transmission is totally silent if you're not wearing an earpiece?"

"Pretty sure…do you think we've got a winner, then?"

Stingy patted Pixel on the back.

"Pixel, this will put Six Thousand Ideas Limited into the big league. I absolutely guarantee it." He smiled at his friend. "You're a genius, you know, the real deal. I really mean that."

"Not really," said Pixel thoughtfully. "If I was a genius, I'd be able to sell this stuff myself. And I wouldn't need you to balance my cheque book for me at the end of the month. And I'd be able to tell the difference between the good ideas and the weird ones. And I'd be better at talking to girls. Or people in general, come to think of it."

"Now, come on, don't sell yourself short - "

"I think I'm more of an idiot-savant, really. Now you, _you're_ a genius. You've made enough on the stock market to cover your entire tuition before the end of the second semester, you get girls to go on dates with you whenever you want, you know what to wear to a restaurant, you can even argue with Trixie and score the occasional point... next time round, I'm coming back as you."

Stingy smiled.

"You're great as you are, Pixel," he said affectionately.

--

"So, did it work?"

Trixie silently passed him the blue paper aeroplane. The note was in Stephanie's handwriting.

_Nice try, Trixie_, it read. _But you're forgetting one thing…he _is_ an above average hero_.

"Well, that showed you," said Stingy, with some satisfaction.

"I know…still, I bet it made them think a bit. Oh, well. _Tant pis pour moi_." She shrugged. "This time tomorrow I'll be off to Japan again, and it'll all seem like a dream…" She looked at him sideways. "Do you find that, Stingy? That when you leave Lazytown, it's hard to believe it's actually real?"

He thought for a while.

"I suppose I do," he said at last. "After all, so much of it just sounds insane when you try and explain it to anyone who hasn't been there. Sportacus, for example…"

"Yeah. A superhero who lives in an airship and keeps the town straight and honest. And Robbie…now _there's _someone who isn't really amenable to rational debate. Hard enough to explain in your own language, never mind in Japanese. I ended up drawing pictures. I think they thought I was an aspiring comic-book artist."

Stingy laughed. "Okay, well - I'll see you and raise. How would you explain to the Surfer Dudes that one of your best friends has just married the man who taught her how to throw basketball hoops when she was a kid, without it sounding like something out of _Peyton Place_?"

"I didn't know you'd even read _Peyton Place_," said Trixie, laughing. "You just keep unfolding like a flower, Stingy."

"Well, you were reading it that summer - " he swallowed.

"You mean that summer we - "

"Yeah."

"Do you ever think about it?" she asked.

_(Only every time I see you)_

"Oh, it crosses my mind from time to time," he said lightly. "Usually when I'm bored at parties. I think, _I could be arguing with Trixie about whether or not the word "history" is gender neutral, or about the difference between irony and sarcasm_. Then someone gives me a beer and I forget again."

"And that's what you remember? The arguments?"

"Not just the arguments, no." He reached out and took her hand. "Trix, I - I sometimes wish - if we'd been just a little bit older when we - "

"You know," she interrupted him, "there's one very important wedding tradition we've overlooked."

"And what's that?" he asked, sighing.

"It's absolutely mandatory for the bridesmaid to sleep with the best man." She looked at him sternly from under her eyelashes. "In fact, I believe it's terribly bad luck if we don't."

"Are you serious?" he asked her, his mouth dry.

"Deadly. What do you think, bestest male friend who isn't a boyfriend? Are you up for it?"

_Oh, dear God, yes and absolutely, _he thought, knowing he would regret it the next day when she left him again, but knowing he would regret it even more if he turned her down.

"Well," he said instead, pretending to consider for a minute, "if it's bad luck not to, then I suppose we really should. Just to keep the tradition, of course."

Trixie nodded approvingly.

"I knew you wouldn't let me down," she said, taking hold of his hand. "Come with me."

--

"Hey, Pixel," said Ziggy brightly. "The whole gang's disappeared. Where is everyone?"

"I'm not the best person to ask." said Pixel distractedly. "I haven't really been taking much notice, to be honest. I've nearly cracked this new transmitter, I just can't get rid of the feedback when you have more than two people on the network…"

"Hey, is that what you're working on at the moment? Can I have a go? Is it that thing we used the night we broke into the Mayor's office?"

"Jesus, Ziggy, keep your voice down….yes, it's that one. I've been trying to get it into something a bit sleeker than those headsets we used. Look." He held up the earpiece. Ziggy instantly stuck it in his ear, then winced as a giant burst of feedback blasted straight into his eardrum.

"Wow, that was _really_ loud. Is my ear bleeding, Pixel?"

Pixel inspected it gravely.

"No blood, Ziggy. Sorry."

"Oh. It certainly _felt_ like it might be bleeding. Hey, I saw Stingy and Trixie going off together holding hands a few minutes ago. Do you think they're going to get together? Only I asked Stingy about it earlier and he got really mad and called me an idiot. _And _he poured my drink out on the ground. Do you think they like each other, or not?" Ziggy asked, jiggling happily from foot to foot.

Pixel sighed.

"I have absolutely no idea. Erm…why don't you go and ask Marie to dance with you?"

"Hey, do you think she might?" Ziggy hopped off again.

Pixel smiled to himself, and continued his delicate probing of the transmitter circuitry.

--

They rode the newly completed monorail to Smallville, hardly speaking. People smiled indulgently at them as they stood side by side in their formal clothes, but they didn't notice. Every now and then they caught each other's eyes and smiled at each other.

"Mr and Mrs Smith," Trixie said cheerfully to the proprietor of the hotel, taking the key from the concierge. He nodded and waved them towards the lift.

"Mr and Mrs _Smith_?" asked Stingy incredulously as the lift doors closed. "That's really clichéd, Trix."

"It's not a cliché if you do it ironically."

"Right. I see." He looked at her in amusement. "And how does one ironically register under a false name in a hotel?"

"It's all about style," she said airily. "Now do you want to argue about names, or do you want to…" she opened the door to the room.

_Oh, yes, I want to…so much I can hardly breathe with it…_

"Rules," she said softly, as he tried to take her in his arms.

"Oh, Trixie, do we _have_ to - "

"Yes. Always. It's more fun that way. Okay, rule number one. You only get to take off one piece of my clothing…so choose wisely. Rule number two. No licking, anywhere, but especially not my ears. It's wet and tickly and over-rated, and I'm not having it. Rule number three…" she pulled him towards her by the buckle of his belt. "No regrets. I'm leaving in the morning. All clear?"

"Crystal clear," he said, smiling, and kissed her. His hands went to the back of her dress to find the fastening.

"The buttons are on the right hand side, Stingy," she chided him, guiding his hand. "I take it you've made your choice?"

"Oh, yes."

"You want to keep the gloves? And the shoes?" She nodded approvingly. "That's my boy. I always knew you were a man of discriminating taste…"

There were what seemed like thousands of tiny, cloth-covered buttons, each one of which had to be carefully pushed through a little loop of silk cord, and his fingers were trembling with need. He swore under his breath as he struggled with them, and she laughed and ruffled his hair encouragingly. Eventually he unfastened the last one, and Trixie stepped away from him. Smiling at him, she slowly peeled the dress off over her head.

For a minute, Stingy felt as if his heart was going to stop beating. She stood before him in her long gloves and her shiny high-heeled shoes; a tightly-laced black bustier; no knickers. She was as delicate and dainty as he remembered, but more carefully groomed, her lipstick immaculately red against her pale face, her thick hair pinned up in a neat little bun and skewered with two bamboo sticks ornamented with pale pink flowers. He reached blindly out for her.

"Wait," she said softly. "You're still dressed…"

"And are you only allowed to take one piece of clothing off me?" he asked.

"Oh, no," she said firmly. "_You_ are going to be completely naked. I insist." She unfastened his tie and threw it carelessly across the room, looking mockingly at him to see if he would protest. He said nothing, so she took off his jacket, crumpled it in her hand, and tossed it onto the bed. The immaculately starched monogrammed shirt followed, then the trousers, the socks, the black silk boxer shorts. Even in her heels she was still shorter than him, but tall enough for him to be able to kiss her without stooping. He put his hands around her face and cupped it between the palms and kissed her, relishing the raspberry taste of her lipstick and the faint lingering spray of _sake_ on her breath.

"Remember," she whispered as his lips began to move down her neck and shoulders. "No licking, I can't _stand_ men who lick…"

"I haven't forgotten," he whispered. He nipped her with his teeth instead, and smiled when he heard her gasp with mingled pain and pleasure. He reached the lace-trimmed cups of her bustier and murmured with frustration. He wanted so much to be loving and generous with her, but she had always insisted on making it like this, a half-tender, half-frustrating game that left them both aching for more even when they were satisfied…maybe that was why she had stuck in his heart so persistently, when the few other girls he had been with had palled within a few weeks…

"You made your choice, Stingy," she whispered to him teasingly. "Now you have to live with it."

"And so do you," he reminded her, smiling. "Oh, well, we'll just have to work around it."

--

Afterwards, they lay in each other's arms on the bed. She had taken down her hair and it flowed over the pillow like a river of black water. He ran his fingers through it and kissed it softly.

"Soppy, Stingy, very soppy," she told him warningly, watching him. "Don't you go getting all serious on me, will you?""Wouldn't dream of it, Trix," he said, laughing. "I know what you're like. How many hearts have you broken while you've been over in Japan?"

"Oh, it's different when you're in a foreign country," she said idly, propping one leg over the other and admiring her foot. "They know you're only there for a short while anyway, so they don't really get involved. And being a Western girl makes me kind of forbidden fruit anyway; not someone to bring home to meet the parents." She chuckled. "It suits me. I don't want to be tied down."

"And how about when you come back to Harvard in September?" he asked her. "You'll be tied down then, surely?"

She shrugged.

"Well, if it gets boring, I'll just throw it all up and be a hairdresser instead." She laughed at the appalled look on his face. "What's so terrible about that? Everyone needs their hair cut…"

"It's just a bit of a waste, don't you think?" he said. "I couldn't quite believe it when you got that place and then deferred it so you could spend six months fooling around in a beauty salon and then - "

"Spend six months fooling around in Japan," Trixie finished for him. "I'm not _like_ you, Stingy. I don't _have _a life plan. I can't think of anything more boring than knowing what I'll be doing every day for the next thirty years. God, I don't even want to plan further ahead than the next thirty days." She turned to him and smiled. "We get one chance at this life, Stingy. Just one. I don't want to wake up and find I'm old and ugly and I've wasted all the wonderful things there are to do in this world…"

"And how about a career? Making money? Getting married? Having a family?"

"Oh, for God's sake," said Trixie, exasperated. "I'm eighteen years old. Ask me in ten years. We're all way too young to be worrying about that yet." She laughed to herself. "Although, saying that…can you keep a secret?""I'm known for it." He turned to look at her curiously.

"I think Stephanie and Sportacus are having a baby."

"They - _what_? Really? How do you know?"

"Well, she was as sick as anything this morning when I was getting her into her frock. I thought it was just nerves, but then later on she was sucking the slices of lemon out of her drink, like she couldn't help herself…and she just…I don't know. It's this look she has. Sort of serene and blooming."

"Wow." Stingy considered this for a while. "So, that's the end of her dancing career, I guess."

"Well, that might be the end of her plans to travel the world as a dancer, but I think she'd gone off that idea anyway. You know _he_ can't leave Lazytown, and when they're apart from each other she just sort of…wilts. I don't think she's got the heart for it any more. She wants to open a dance school in Lazytown instead, sort of an extension of what she used to teach anyway…you remember that class they taught together? I think it could work, actually. There's nothing like it in Smallville, so there could be plenty of demand, and with a year at Conservatoire her credentials will look pretty good."

"I bet Bessie will have an absolute fit," said Stingy dispassionately.

"Yeah, so do I…but there's not a lot she can actually do about it, is there?"

"I suppose not." He began to stroke her neck with the tips of his fingers. "Do the rules allow for a repeat performance?"

"If you ask me nicely," she said.

"_Please._"

"Don't look so _serious_," she teased him. "Of course we can. I'm yours until morning." She sat astride him. "As long as you remember that's all there is to it, okay? Nothing heavy. Just two friends having some fun together."

"Absolutely," he said solemnly. "If we were a proper couple, we'd drive each other nuts inside of a week."

"Don't we both know it," she said wryly, kissing him. "Great sex and great arguments are not the basis for a lasting relationship. But…for weddings and Bar Mitzvahs… ohhhh…now _that_ is worth coming back from Kobe for…keep doing that, Mr Accountancy, and I might just make a habit of this…"

She closed her eyes in ecstasy.

--

Bessie stood on the driveway, looking at her car. The keys were in her handbag. The tank was full. She could get behind the wheel and drive to Smallville right now, find a bar and order a drink…

…instead, with a mighty effort of will, she took her mobile phone.

"Hello?"

"Gina? It's Bessie. I'm standing next to my car. I'm thinking about getting into it and driving to the nearest bar and getting completely drunk. My niece got married today."

"You want me to come and get you?""No, no…just talk to me. Tell me I can do this."

"Of course you can do this. Just take it one day at a time, Bessie girl….we're all living this clean, sober life just one day at a time."


	2. Chapter Two Teenage Kicks

**Chapter Two - Teenage Kicks**

_Two years earlier_

They all remembered that summer differently. For Ziggy, it was the summer he kissed Marie, in the starlight, underneath the trees at the back of the sports field. For Stephanie, it was the summer she began to run a weekly dance class for the seven-year-olds, which was so successful that she continued it long after the summer was over. For Pixel and Stingy, it was the summer they went into Smallville, scored and then smoked their first and only joint together, and, in between giggling and admiring the pretty colours of the graffiti in the Metro stations, agreed to set up Six Thousand Ideas Ltd, with an initial investment of five hundred dollars each and three founding principles: 1) we stop when we've launched six thousand products, no sooner, no later 2) we never, ever sell anything to the military and 3) a strict 50/50 profit share.

And for Stingy and Trixie, it was the summer they argued their way into each other's arms, and then back out again; and, in a small town where it was virtually impossible keep a secret for more than a day, hardly anyone ever knew about it.

--

"It's ridiculous," said Trixie firmly. "I am not being called the chairman."

"Why not?" asked Stingy, tacking up posters on the wall with a wooden mallet. "It just means the person who's in charge of the committee, that's all. More pins, please."

"Why not? Because I'm not a man, Boy Genius." She passed him four more pins.

"'Chairman' is a gender neutral term," Stingy said calmly, in between taps of the hammer. "'Chairwoman' draws attention to the fact that you're a woman, and makes it seem more unusual for you as a woman to have a leadership role by requiring you to have a specific, marginalised term to describe you. Hold this for me for a minute, I need to move the ladder."

Pixel and Stephanie, patiently holding stacks of posters for the Spring Formal, looked at each other and shrugged.

"You're suggesting that it's in the interests of feminism to describe me as a man?" asked Trixie, absent-mindedly taking the mallet.

"I'm suggesting it's in the interests of _equality _for the same term to apply to men and women when they undertake the same role."

"Then why not just call me the Chair?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"You think you're more like a piece of furniture than you are like a man?"

"Aha. So you admit that 'Chairman' is a term that contains an inherent assumption about sex?"

"Gender."

"Pedant."

"That's you having the last word, is it?"

She held the mallet up threateningly.

"Violence is the last resort of the intellectually bankrupt - ow! God, Trixie, that was a bit unnecessary, wasn't it?" He rubbed his kneecap and winced.

"Just striking a blow for the cause," Trixie said, smiling radiantly. Her impish little face was inches from his own, and he found himself noticing, for the first time and with some surprise, the fine, soft texture of her skin and the perfect curve of her lips.

"How about 'chairperson'?" suggested Stephanie, sighing.

"No," said Stingy and Trixie firmly, in unison.

"Why not?" asked Pixel, bewildered.

"Because no-one describes themselves as a person," said Trixie firmly. "You're either a man, or a woman. Either is fine. I just think accuracy is important."

"And anyway, it's a cop-out," added Stingy. "A cheap, politically-correct compromise that stifles debate."

"Oh, it's a debate, is it?" said Pixel dryly. "I thought it was just another pointless argument. My mistake."

--

"I just don't see how you can sneer at me wanting to study economics when you've decided to major in philosophy, that's all. It's an intellectual cul-de-sac. It doesn't lead anywhere. I mean, honestly, what has been the actual contribution of philosophers to the modern world?"

Trixie smiled at him, showing her dimples.

"Karl Marx is generally held to have made quite an impression, Stingy."

"Karl Marx - oh, you are so not claiming him, Trix. He was an _economist_."

"He was a political philosopher who applied his the fruits of his thinking to contemporary economic policy."

"He was not, he - oh, all right, he was, I'll give you that one. But only because that wasn't actually my point. My point is - my point is - " He paused for a moment, trying to remember what his point was. "Oh, yes…you can't possibly claim the moral high ground because you've decided to study philosophy, _that_ was my point."

"Bean-counting is not a worthwhile use of your talents," she said firmly.

"Firstly, economics is about much more than just counting. Secondly, even if it _was_, explain to me how any society is supposed to produce the money to fund all these interesting explorations of morality if there isn't someone counting the beans?"

"That's a crappy argument, Stingy. First of all, if you follow that to its logical conclusion, which is that societal value is related to the level to which it enables other functions, we'd all of us be aspiring to a life of subsistence farming. Secondly - "

"Guys," said Ziggy, passing them a bowl of nuts. "You've been standing in this corner arguing for hours. Are we going to play this game of Monopoly or what?"

"Go away, Ziggy," they said simultaneously.

--

"It's a waste of your intellect to read it."

"Just because it's popular doesn't mean it's trashy," she said firmly.

"But it _is_ trashy. It was the very first trashy novel. It defined the genre for the next forty years."

"So doesn't that make it worth reading?"

"There are only so many hours in the day. I just can't believe you're spending one of them reading _that_, that's all…"

They were sitting on the steps at the back of the high school, leaning companionably against each other, and watching the game of Frisbee. Ziggy threw it wildly into the air and Pixel flung himself across the field to reach it, but was beaten to it by Stephanie, who leapt gracefully into the air and caught it. Sportacus laughed and applauded, and for a moment their eyes met. Trixie watched them consideringly.

He followed the direction of her gaze, and raised his eyebrows.

"I sometimes think," she said after a moment, "that if I got in the way of one of those looks, I'd just sizzle up into nothingness, like a fly in one of those blue-light destroyers."

"Oh, now that's a _beautiful_ image," he said sarcastically. "I take it all back about _Peyton Place_. It's clearly doing you no end of good."

"But seriously…what do you think?"

"I think I'm not really comfortable talking about it, Trixie, that's what I think."

"Why not? Surely not even you could think there's anything wrong with it, could you?"

"Absolutely not," he said firmly. "But you know who would, and if _she_ even imagined…it's not something to gossip about. Nothing stays private in this town for long once people start talking."

"We're not gossiping. We're taking an interest as concerned friends."

"But still…don't you get the feeling that it's balanced on a knife-edge? They both want to, so much, but neither of them quite dare…it's so fragile...no, definitely not discussing it any more, Trix, sorry." He paused. "What?"

Trixie was staring at him.

"You," she said. "When did you get so sensitive and insightful?"

"Oh, I've always been sensitive and insightful," he laughed. "You just never noticed because you were too busy putting me down to notice all my good points."

"Harsh, but probably true…okay, we won't discuss Lazytown's Perfect Couple any more. Back to business. What's wrong with you studying economics? It's dull, for one thing. And I know you like to hide it away beneath your cold, calculating exterior, but I'm ninety per cent sure there's a heartbeat under there."

"Economics is not dull. It's completely amazing. Adam Smith's _Wealth of Nations_ changed the way the world works for ever…"

"No, Adam Smith _documented _how the world works…very different. And besides, guess what his degree was in?"

"Ha! Google him. You'll find he's the founding father of _economics_."

"Oh, well, if Google says so…" said Trixie mockingly.

"Sorry, but you're not going to win that point, Trix. Adam Smith was an economist. Try harder. Come on, what's wrong with it?"

"It's completely in your comfort zone. You've been working up to this since you were a small boy."

"That's not a comfort zone, that's a dream," he protested.

"No-one _dreams_ about bean-counting, Stingy."

"And neither do I! I keep telling you, you're thinking of accountancy." She rolled her eyes. "That's not a come-back, that's a sign of defeat. Have I won the argument yet?"

She smiled at him, her face only inches from his, and he felt his heart beat faster. _Leave it,_ he thought to himself. _This is Trixie, one of your best friends. You've known her as long as you can remember. She changes her boyfriend as often Pixel changes his t-shirt. Bad idea. Bad, bad, bad idea._

"You need to challenge yourself a bit more," she said softly. Her lips were faintly tinted with the black lipstick she liked to wear. "Do something that scares you…hey, Mike!" She waved across the field to the football player who was lumbering towards them.

"I thought it was Andy."

"No, he was last month's news…do try to keep up."

"And is that you trying out something that scares you?" Stingy asked mockingly as Trixie stood up. "Oh, no, hang on, that's definitely _your_ comfort zone, isn't it? Pretty boys with great bodies and no brains. I really don't know why you bother with them."

"Don't you, Stingy?" she asked, and kissed him lightly on the nose. "Maybe you should take out one of the cheerleaders and find out. It might loosen you up a bit." And she was gone, dancing lightly across the field to meet her latest dalliance.

--

The living-room of Marie's house was jammed with her classmates, all enthusiastically celebrating her birthday. Marie had insisted that Ziggy bring his "totally cool friends" with him, and he had pleaded so disarmingly with them not to let them down that they had all agreed to come, in spite of the feeling that they were really too old for it. Stephanie and Pixel had appointed themselves the unofficial party chaperones and were discreetly keeping an eye on who was where in the house, blithely gate-crashing the bedrooms occasionally to make sure no-one was getting too carried away. Trixie had brought her make-up box and was obligingly making over some of the younger girls, transforming them from fresh-faced young girls into smudge-eyed minxes. Stingy, openly bored, was sitting apart from the rest of the party, reading a battered copy of _Principia Mathematica_ and counting the minutes until Marie's parents would be home again.

"Your turn, Stingy. Truth or dare?"

"Oh, for God's sake, Marie. This is such a ridiculous, predictable game. I'm busy reading. Do I really have to?"

She looked provocatively at him from under her eyelashes.

"Don't be so miserable. Why did you come to the party if you don't want to join in any of the fun?"

"Is that my Truthful Question?" he asked.

"No, of course it isn't - "

"Yes," interrupted Trixie. "That's your truthful question. Oh, come on, you guys, you know you were just going to ask him _Who do you most want to kiss_ or dare him to take off his trousers and run across the park. Just for once, let's ask a question we don't know the answer to. Go on, Stingy. Tell us all. Why _did _you come to the party if you don't want to join in any of the fun?"

Everyone fell silent, waiting to hear the answer.

"Because," he said slowly, "you asked me to come, Trixie. Although quite why you wanted me here is honestly beyond me. And that's the exact and total truth."

He looked straight into her eyes, and for the first time she could remember, she was unable to think of a single thing to say. He nodded wearily, as if he had been expecting precisely this reaction. Then, without saying anything, stood up and walked out of the room without looking back.

"We should go after him," said Stephanie immediately, getting to her feet.

"It's all right, Pinkie," said Trixie. "I upset him. I'll go. You stay here. I'll see you in the morning."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course."

She ran down the steps of Marie's front porch, looking down the road. She couldn't see any sign of him anywhere. Then suddenly she felt two arms go around her waist and spin her roughly around. She was immobile with surprise. One hand stayed firmly around her waist, while the other went under her chin and turned her face upwards, and she realised that the boy holding her was Stingy.

"What are you _doing_?" she whispered in astonishment.

"Something that scares me," he whispered back, and bent to kiss her fiercely.

--

He had thought that the kiss would change everything, but on the surface, everything between them seemed to stay exactly the same. There was no new tenderness or understanding between them; they continued to argue and bicker, to debate every point fiercely, a continual verbal fencing.

But, for six enchanted, secret weeks, there was something else too…

"So," said Trixie breathlessly. "These are the rules."

They were in her bedroom, hiding in there really, he thought; they were supposed to be studying in the library, but had strolled casually off the High School premises, taking separate routes. They were half-sitting, half-lying on her bed, kissing frantically, her hair in his mouth and in his eyes.

"The rules?"

"Yes. The rules are everything. Without the rules, things get out of hand. Rule number one: this is the first time, so we're not going too far, okay? Everything below the waist stays on."

"Does that mean there's a chance we'll be doing this again?"

She laughed, and pushed her hair out of her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Stingy," she said, but without answering the question. "Rule number two: no faking, okay? I'll promise if you will."

"I don't think it's possible for boys to fake it, Trix," murmured Stingy.

"You'd be surprised. Rule number three…" she sat up for a moment, and set her alarm clock for thirty minutes time. "When the alarm sounds, it's time to stop."

And then she was back in his arms, and there was nothing said between them but faint murmurs and whispers of _is that all right?_ and _yes, just there, like that,_ and _not yet, too much_ and _please, just for a minute_. It was warm and sweet and good between them, so good that Trixie was astonished to find herself crying out in bliss as Stingy, inexperienced but determined, suddenly found just the right way to touch her, something none of the other boys she had been with had managed without careful direction and the occasional sharp word, and without even needing to think about it she slid her hand beneath his clothes and stroked him firmly and rhythmically, until he gasped and shuddered against her hand, and the noise of the alarm-clock ringing brought them back down to earth again.

"Well," she said, laughing. "_That_ was certainly an unexpected pleasure. Are you sure you haven't been fooling around with the cheerleaders?"

He laid his hand on his heart.

"I solemnly swear," he said mockingly, "that I have not been fooling around with the cheerleaders. In fact - " he hesitated - "that was the most fooling around I have ever done in my life. Sad but true."

"Then you must be a very quick study."

"It's what I'm best at," he said lightly, running his fingers through her hair. "How else do you think I keep my grades up? And…how about you?"

"Cheerleaders aren't really my thing, Stingy."

"All right then, how many other men?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I want to know what I'm competing against."

"It's not a competition."

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't know what you mean." She looked at him severely. "Frame your question properly, Stingy, and I'll answer it honestly."

"All right. How many other men have you been…intimate with?"

"_Intimate_…hmmm. Intimacy doesn't have to come into it, you know. Sometimes it's just two strangers who can't keep their hands off each other for the duration."

He could feel the familiar combative irritation rising in him. "Oh, look, Trix, just answer the question, because I really want to know…how many others have touched you like that?"

With surprising sweetness, she smiled and kissed him.

"None," she said. "No-one else ever touched me like that, because that was _you _touching me and that made it different. It's different every time, with everyone," she went on pensively, and he felt the joy at her totally unexpected response fade away again. "Besides, why does it matter? It doesn't matter how many, or how few, or how long it lasts for, what's happened before or what happens afterwards. It's all about _right now_, Stingy, about being alive and being happy and making the most of what there is. Just go with the flow. Let's enjoy this while we can." She checked the clock. "We have to get back for Geometry."

"Oh, yes, Geometry," he said sarcastically, re-buttoning his shirt. "God forbid we miss out on learning how to trisect a circle."

"Are you actually suggesting we skip?"

"It had crossed my mind," he admitted.

"My word, you come across as such an uptight control-freak, but once you let go…" He took her in his arms again, but she pushed him firmly away. "Absolutely not. We have college next year. Come on." She took his hand and led him firmly out of the bedroom.

On the doorstep, she hesitated.

"Look, don't tell anyone about this, okay? This is just for us…"

_We've only had half an hour together and already I want you to be just for me,_ he thought. _How on earth am I going to handle this?_

--

He handled it because he was clever, and knew how to conceal his increasing desperation to hold onto what he knew would never last.

They met whenever they could; always in secret, never for long. He knew that part of the thrill of it for her was the secrecy, the knowledge that they were getting away with it in front of everyone. The third time they met, she took his virginity; she refused to tell him if he had taken hers, although he strongly suspected he had not. She continued to make the rules.

He tried to think of it the way she thought of it; to tell himself that what mattered was _right now_, not where it was going the future. But all the old, jealous need that he had so carefully schooled himself to suppress as he grew older was rising up in him again. It wasn't enough to hold her in his arms for half an hour or half a day, he wanted her to be his completely…

Then, one afternoon, she met him in the library.

"Stingy," she said, just his name, no more; but he knew from the regretful sound of her voice what she was going to tell him.

"So who's the lucky man?" he asked her, leaning back in his chair. She looked at him ruefully. "It's all right. Like you said…it's all about _right now_…and our _right now_ is over." He looked her straight in the face. "I'm right, aren't I?"

She took his face between her hands and kissed him softly on the lips. Without speaking, she turned around and left him sitting there.

He ran his fingers through his hair, and straightened his jacket where it hung on the back of his chair. Then he turned back to his copy of _The Prince_ and the neat, comprehensive notes he was making on the pad before him; but it was a while before he could begin to write again.

--

He was sitting alone on the steps by the sports field, when suddenly Sportacus somersaulted lightly down the steps and sat down beside him.

"What's the trouble?" he asked with a friendly smile.

Stingy looked at him wordlessly.

"Oh…I see. This is not one for me to help with, I think." He thought for a minute. "Mmm. Wait here."

Feeling obscurely comforted, Stingy watched Sportacus cartwheel off across the field. Five minutes later, Stephanie arrived.

"It's Trixie, isn't it?" she said softly, sitting down on the steps.

Stingy considered denying it, but couldn't summon the energy.

"How did you know?" he asked her.

"Do you know how many times I've seen that look on some poor guy's face? You know what she's like, Stingy. She doesn't do long-term, she never has…"

"You know, that doesn't actually help very much."

"I'm sorry." Embarrassed, she ducked her head forward so that her hair fell across her face. "I know I'm not as good at this as - " she stopped suddenly.

"Oh, for God's sake. _He_ knew, didn't he?" He laughed a little. "And she actually thought we were keeping it a secret…"

"I had absolutely no idea until this afternoon," she said quickly. "Sportacus did tell me, I hope you don't mind. He said he thought you'd rather talk to me." She laughed. "Although I don't seem to be doing very well at it."

"It's all right, Stephanie," he sighed. "Actually, Sportacus is right - I would rather talk to you more than him - more than anyone else in the world, actually. You're the only person who knows us both and knows what we're like and doesn't spend their life wiring things together or obsessing about toffee." He smiled at her fondly. "But please don't tell everyone else, okay? It'll be fine, it's just…it's never much fun getting dumped, that's all."

"So what happened?"

"We were together for a while. Now we're not. You're right, I know how she is. I just - I just - " he was embarrassed to find that there were tears in his eyes.

"Do you love her?"

He sighed.

"Oh, I don't know…most of the time we seem to irritate the hell out of each other. We've got completely different outlooks on life. We want totally different things. That doesn't sound much like love to me, not like…" He stopped abruptly. "These things happen, I suppose. Why don't you give me a full run-down of all the hearts she's broken over the last few years, so I don't feel quite so alone in all the world?"


	3. Chapter 3 That's Not Nearly All

**Chapter Three - That's Not Nearly All**

**To: (**Pinkie at lazytown . org)  
**From: **(Trixie at hotmail . com)  
**Subject:** Are you going to own up yet?

Come on, Pinkie, it's time to confess.

_Is there anything you want to tell me?_

If it's what I think it is, you're going to have to come clean soon, you know. That Sort Of Thing cannot be concealed for long…

T

xxx

**--**

**To:** (Trixie at hotmail . com)  
**From:** (Pinkie at lazytown . org)  
**Subject:** RE: Are you going to own up yet?

Oh, okay, Trixie, you got me…and you're right, there's no way I could keep it a secret much longer anyway…

We're having a baby, and he or she will be born round about Christmas.

S

xxx

--

**To: **(Pinkie at lazytown . org)  
**From: **(Trixie at hotmail . com)  
**Subject:** OMFG

Wow.

Just…wow.

I kind of knew anyway, but seeing it in writing like that makes it real…that's just amazing news. Completely mind-blowing. And it's not even me who's pregnant.

Can I ask you all the impertinent questions now??

Was it planned?

What are you going to do afterwards?

And forgive me, but you're my best friend and I love you almost as much as he does, so I have to ask…

You are pleased, aren't you?

T

xxx

--

**To:** (Trixie at hotmail . com)  
**From: **(Pinkie at lazytown . org)  
**Subject:** Re: OMFG

Yes, you can ask me impertinent questions, but I don't have to give you the answers. ;-)

I will answer one, though…

Yes, I am pleased. I am so far beyond pleased I can't even begin to explain it.

S

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

PS Now I need to ask you an impertinent question. What was going on between you and Stingy at our wedding?

--

**To:** (pinkie at lazytown . org)  
**From: **(trixie at hotmail . com)  
**Subject:** OMFG

Stingy?

You can ask me impertinent questions, but….

I love you. Can't wait to see both of you (all three of you?) in the fall.

T

xxxxxxxxxxx

--

**To:** (stingy at sixthousandideas . com)  
**From:** (trixie at hotmail . com)  
**Subject:** Even the Kitchen Appliances are in on it

Hey Mr Millionaire,

How's Six Thousand Ideas coming on? I saw this mad advertisement for a talking toaster on the TV last night - at least I think that's what it was - although the adverts over here are so kooky it's hard to tell. Didn't Pixel come up with something like that once? Maybe it wasn't as insane an idea as it sounded after all.

Hope you got back from Smallville all right the next morning…

T

--

**To:** (trixie at hotmail . com)  
**From: **(stingy at sixthousandideas . com)  
**Subject:** RE: Even the Kitchen Appliances are in on it

Trix, are you serious? If that's what I think it is, I'm going to sue those bastards at Koduji…

Could you buy me one and courier it over? I'll pay.

S

PS Yes, I got back fine, thank you. We should be best man and bridesmaid at our friends' weddings more often.

--

**To:** (stingy at sixthousandideas . com)  
**From:** (trixie at hotmail . com)  
**Subject:** You serious?

_What??_ You mean this actually _is_ one of yours? Good grief.

You owe me ninety-six thousand million dollars for the toaster and the postage. And the tip-off. Trust me, the exchange rate at the minute is _horrible_.

T

PS I don't think Pixel and Ziggy are really compatible ;-)

--

**To: **(justyn . lewis at koduji . com)  
**From: **(stingy at sixthousandideas . com)  
**Subject:** Royalties

Dear Mr Lewis,

We would like to draw your attention to the signed agreement, dated October last year, confirming your worldwide licence to use our patented Toastmaster 6000 technology in your range of kitchen appliances.

We understand from our sources in the market that this product is now being marketed across the Asia-Pacific Rim and look forward to receiving confirmation of the royalty payments due by return.

Yours sincerely

Mr Shaun Hughes  
Mr Peter Wright  
Managing Directors

Six Thousand Ideas Limited

--

**To:** (hector . awami at koduji . com)  
**From:** (justyn . lewis at koduji . com)  
**Subject:** FW: Royalties

Hector,

Well, it was worth a punt, but they're onto us.

Legally we don't have a leg to stand on. They have a watertight contract and a worldwide patent.

I recommend we fold immediately to avoid the threat of legal action. Plus, if they have more ideas like that voice-chip, we need to keep them sweet.

Please advise.

Justyn

--

**To:** (justyn . lewis at koduji . com)  
**From:** (hector . awami at koduji . com)  
**Subject:** RE: FW: Royalties

Justyn,

Just to be totally clear and for the avoidance of doubt in case of legal action:

- I was not aware of, nor did I authorise, the illicit use of the Toastmaster 6000 technology in the Asia-Pacific region

- It is NOT the policy of Koduji to knowingly make use of the intellectual property of other companies without their permission

- We will of course make all relevant payments in full by return.

Consider this your authorisation to do so.

We can't afford another situation like this, Justyn. If there are any repercussions, I have no doubt that the Axeman will be coming for me. However, I will make it my personal mission to ensure he pays a visit to you first.

Hector

--

**To:** (stingy at sixthousandideas . com)  
**From:** (justyn . lewis at koduji . com)  
**Subject:** RE: Royalties

Dear Mr Hughes,

Please be assured that we have every intention of making payment in full and in accordance with the terms of our agreement.

A cheque to the value of 186,567.98 is in the post to you as I write. Please advise receipt by return.

Thanks and best regards,

Mr Justyn Lewis  
Sales Director, Koduji  
Asia-Pacific Region

**--**

**To:** (Trixie at hotmail . com)  
**From:** (Stingy at sixthousandideas . com)  
**Subject:** Dinner?

I O U:

175 for the toaster

285.66 for the courier

Dinner for the tip-off

When can I pay? I hate being in debt.

S

--

**To:** (Stingy at sixthousandideas . com)  
**From:** (trixie at hotmail . com)  
**Subject:** Re: Dinner?

If I'm between men the next time I'm in town, you've got a deal.

T

--

**To:** (Pinkie at lazytown . org)  
**From: **(Trixie at hotmail . com)  
**Subject:** Traveller's Tales

Hey there Pinkie,

I met this utterly divine guy, Akihiko, on the bullet train the other day. I winked at him and he was totally taken aback, and we got talking. (Well, kind of. I'm still at the drawing-pictures stage for anything more complicated than "How do you get to the opera house?".)

Anyway, I just got back from the most amazing trip to the Hot Springs. He showed me the night life, and then he…showed me the night life. I never thought I was that into - ahem - accessories, but it was quite an experience.

How are you doing, honey? Is that bump of yours showing yet?

Love ya

Trix

Xxxxxxxxx

--

**To:** (Trixie at hotmail . com)  
**From: **(Pinkie at lazytown . org)  
**Subject:** RE: Traveller's Tales

Yes, it's starting to show, at least I think so. I'm going to have to tell Aunt Bessie this week, I guess, or she's going to realise anyway.

You are such a heartbreaker, Trixie. Are you going to see him again? Or is he just a(nother) ship you're passing by in the night?

And what do you mean, _accessories_?

S

Xxxxx

--

**To:** (Pinkie at lazytown . org)  
**From:** (Trixie at hotmail . com)  
**Subject:** _You what??_

What do you mean, "I'm going to have to tell Aunt Bessie"? Why haven't you told her yet?

Actually, scratch that…I know why you haven't told her. Jesus, the fuss she made about the wedding. And now a baby as well.

Babe, I know this is a bit late in the day, but would it not have made more sense to save starting a family for a while? Just while you finished at the Conservatoire?

Forgive me. I know this is completely rude and intrusive. But you're my best friend. I worry about you.

Trix

Xxxxx

--

**To:** (Trixie at hotmail . com)  
**From:** (Pinkie at lazytown . org)  
**Subject:** RE: _You what??_

Trix, you can ask me anything, okay? I don't mind.

How can I explain this….?

First thing: I didn't want to do the second year of training, because I don't think I'll ever use it. I know what I want to do. I want to stay in Lazytown and teach dancing, and I've got all the training I need for that.

Second thing: I've loved him ever since I was a little girl. To you it probably seems quick, but to us it feels like exactly the right time.

Third thing: you know where he comes from…who he is…I worry, Trix, I worry about what he gave up to be with me, about what he might have had to sacrifice. He's never said anything, that's not his style, but still…I kind of want to make absolutely sure that we're thoroughly glued together, you know? In every way.

I can't say these things to anyone but you.

S

Xxxxxx

--

**To:** (Pinkie at lazytown . org)  
**From: **(Trixie at hotmail . com)  
**Subject:** You're both completely insane

_He_ worries about what _you_ gave up to be with _him_. You know that, right? Yes? Yes?

Can't you both of you just get over your inferiority complexes and accept that you're as close to the perfect couple as two people could possibly get?

You've set a pretty high standard for the rest of us, Pinkie. One day, I want what you've got.

And that's something I can't say to anyone but you.

T

Xxxxxx

--

**To: **(Stingy at sixthousandideas . com)  
**From:** (trixie at hotmail . com)  
**Subject:** The Wanderer

Stingy boy,

I'll be saying _sayonara_ to Japan a couple of weeks. Is that offer of dinner still good? I have four days back home before I head off to Harvard.

I've got plenty to tell you about.

Oh…and I met this fabulously beautiful local boy on the train one day, and he took me to the Hot Springs for a night and showed me a few things I've never seen before, which I'm going to assume means you won't have seen them before either. I kept a few of them to play with.

Would you like to try them out, Best Man?

Please say yes. I promise it will be fun, and whoever you're dating will have you back in one piece afterwards.

The Bridesmaid

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

--

**To: **(trixie at hotmail . com)  
**From:** (stingy at sixthousandideas . com)  
**Subject:** (no subject)

Oh God, Trixie,

Please don't do this to me again. Don't ask me, because you know I can't say no to you. When you give me that look, that flirty, dirty look, and you crook your little finger, I have to run after you, even though I know I'll spend weeks afterwards putting myself back together.

I wish I was like you. I wish I could do these things as casually as you could. I know that to you it's just a game, a hobby, like a game of tennis on a Saturday afternoon, only with fewer clothes on. But it's not like that to me. Every time you let me touch you, and then every time you walk away again, it's harder for me to pretend it means nothing.

Don't you know what you do to me? You drive me wild, Trix. You were my first. I know I wasn't yours, but you were the first woman in my life, and I don't know how to get you out of it again. In public, you're so bright, so sharp and together; you never give an inch, you never lose an argument; you're sparky and clever and a million times quicker than I'll ever be. And then, in bed, you're so wild and wicked and wanton, I can hardly believe you're the same person. There's never been anyone else like you. I wonder if there ever will be, or even if I should be wanting there to be.

I can't decide, Trix, if you bring out the best in me or the worst. Certainly no-one else has ever made me feel the way you do…there's no other woman who I've ever felt as free with. You never judge, Trix; you make the most ridiculous, frustrating rules sometimes, but you never judge. Because of that, I've done things with you and to you I'd never dare suggest to any other woman I've known. (Not that there have been that many.) Is that a good thing? I don't know. Maybe I'm afraid to find out the answer.

One thing I do know: you make me possessive, in that way you all used to tease me about when we were kids. I want you to be all mine, mine exclusively, but I know you never will be. It makes me sick with jealousy when you talk so casually about the other men who've been lucky enough to be allowed to touch you.

Is this love? I don't know. God knows it doesn't sound much like it, not when I write it down like this. But you're in my blood, Trix. You pass through my heart thousands of times a day, and every time I want you to stay there for ever; but you always move on again. And I'm left lonely and desperate and jealous, waiting for the next time you come back into my life. We meet, and we spar, and sometimes we have sex, and sometimes we don't. And that's how it is. And I daren't suggest anything else, because you'll laugh at me and refuse, and because I honestly don't know how it would be between us if there was anything more permanent. Would we be amazing together? Or would we destroy each other?

So yes, of course I'll take you out to dinner, and I'll book us a hotel room, and if I'm lucky you'll come back with me, and show me the love beads or the amyl nitrate or whatever it is that guy on the train introduced you to. Because you know I can't resist.

But afterwards…afterwards I'll hate myself, and maybe you, for a while, until I get myself back under control again and fool myself that I can live the way you do: until I can pretend that what matters is _now_, just _now_.

Stingy

He looked at it bleakly for a long time.

delete

**To:** (Trixie at hotmail . com)  
**From: **(Stingy at sixthousandideas . com)  
**Subject:** RE: the Wanderer

Sure, Trix. Whatever you say.

The Best Man


	4. Chapter 4 Extract from Tape

**Extract of Tape Recording: Psychotherapy session Number One**

_Psychotherapist:_ Dr Richard Kaye  
_Patient:_ Mrs Elizabeth Meanswell

"Come in, Mrs Meanswell. Please sit down. My name is Doctor Kaye. It's very nice to meet you. Thank you for keeping the appointment."

"Do a lot of people not turn up, then?"

"You come to expect a proportion who won't feel able to do so…it can take a lot of courage to walk through my doors."

"Oh…Well, I can understand that. I nearly didn't come myself. I've been parked down the street for half an hour…" (short pause) "It's quite dark in here, isn't it?"

"It's been my experience that most people find the privacy comforting - especially as the office fronts onto the street. But we can certainly change that if you want. Would you prefer it if I opened the blinds a little?"

"No! No…this is fine…where should I sit?"

"Wherever you feel most comfortable."

"So I don't have to lie down on the couch?"

(laughter)

"Feel free to do so if you wish. You might be surprised how many patients prefer it. But a chair is fine too. Whatever you feel most comfortable with."

(a chair scrapes on a wooden floor)

"While you get yourself settled, let's begin by explaining the ground rules for working together. Firstly, as I'm sure you know, whatever you tell me in this session will remain totally confidential. There are a few important exceptions which I need to make clear up front. Just so you know, these are; if I have reason to suspect that you are likely to commit a violent act on another person, in which case I have a legal duty to inform the potential victim; if I have reason to suspect you are engaged in some form of abuse of a minor, in which case I have a legal duty to inform the relevant authorities; or if I diagnose you with one of a specified list of notifiable diseases, in which case I am obliged to report it for public health monitoring purposes." (pause) "I should also inform you that all sessions in this practice are taped. Is there anything there you feel uncomfortable with, Mrs Meanswell?"

"No."

"Are there any other questions you would like to ask me about how we will be working together?"

"No…that all sounds…absolutely fine."

"Good. So, why don't you begin by telling me a little bit about yourself?"

"All right…" (long pause) "Where should I start?"

"Wherever you like, Mrs Meanswell. Are you happy for me to call you Mrs Meanswell, by the way?"

"Oh…well, why don't you call me 'Bessie'. Everyone does."

"Very well, then…Bessie."

(silence on the tape)

"Bessie, would you like a tissue?"

"Thank you…I'm so sorry…"

"There's no need to apologise. Tears are a normal and very common reaction. What you're experiencing is the emotional release associated with taking the first steps on a difficult journey. Please take all the time you need."

(silence on the tape)

"Well…My name is Bessie Meanswell…and I…and I…" (silence) "I can't say it…"

"Bessie, may I ask you something? Is alcohol by any chance a factor in your decision to come here?"

"Yes. Yes it is. How did you know? How can you tell?"

"Don't worry, there's no special trick. It's simply that you used a form of introduction frequently employed in AA meetings."

"Oh…well, yes…yes, it is a factor."

"May I ask if you are currently sober?"

"Yes." (a long pause) "Just."

"Do you mean you are only recently sober, or only just maintaining your sobriety?"

"I haven't had a drink for four years, six months and five days. And every day it gets harder to hold onto it all. I wake up in the night sometimes dreaming about it… dreaming that I'm drinking again…"

"And how do you feel when you dream this?"

(long pause)

"I feel ashamed…and also…liberated. As if I've put down a terrible burden that I've been carrying."

"I see…well, we'll certainly do some work around exploring that aspect of your life in future sessions. And now why don't you tell me something about _you_. Are you currently in a relationship, Bessie?"

"Why, yes, I - I'm _married, _Doctor Kaye. I'm _Mrs_ Meanswell."

"Of course…I'm sure you understand that we don't like to assume anything when working with a new patient. And when did you get married?"

"About three and a half years ago."

(pause; pen scratches on pad)

"So you were sober when you got married?"

"Yes."

"Is your husband aware that you have a history of addiction to alcohol?"

"Yes, he knew all about it…in fact, he helped me to recover."

"Was your sobriety a condition of your marriage?"

"No…not for him…he would have married me anyway. At least I think he would. He certainly always seemed keen enough. We'd known each other for many years, but…it had never seemed right before." (pause) "It was the first time he'd asked me, but I know if I'd given him any sign of interest he would have asked me years ago."

"And how about for yourself? Would you have married him if you hadn't managed to achieve sobriety?"

"I - why, I don't really know. I never thought about it before." (silence on the tape) "I suppose maybe I wouldn't have…I don't suppose I was really in much of a position to make such an important decision…but then again…" (silence) "I really don't know. That's the honest answer."

"I see…" (sound of pen scratching on paper) "Is it all right with you if I make notes, by the way, Bessie? It just helps me to remember what we discuss when I'm going over our sessions later. You're free to see what I write at any time."

"Oh…yes. That's no problem."

"So…your marriage to Mr Meanswell. Is this your first marriage?"

"Yes.""Your first significant relationship?"

(long pause)

"What do you mean by 'significant'?"

"What do _you_ mean by 'significant ', Bessie?"

"Oh…I suppose…" (pause) "It's difficult to say."

"Can you talk some more about that? About why it's difficult to say?"

"It's difficult because…it could be about how long it lasts…or it could be about… well…other things."

"Can you explain what you mean by 'other things'?"

"Do I have to?"

"I think it would be helpful if you did."

"I suppose I mean…relationships where you have - have sex. That would make it significant, wouldn't it?" (A pause) "Now I'm embarrassed."

"Why do you feel that way?"

"Because I sound like such a middle-aged prude. Upset about talking about…that sort of thing."

"A middle-aged prude. And is that how you see yourself?"

"No…I don't know…maybe…" (heavy sigh) "I'm sure I never used to be this way…"

(silence on the tape)

"Is that how I seem to you?"

"Bessie, you seem to me like a brave lady who's come for some help with a famously difficult and intractable problem."

"You're very kind."

"Not at all. We'll come back to the question of your romantic relationships later. For now, let's talk some more about your background. Do you have any children?"

"No…none of my own, anyway."

"Does your husband?"

"No. But we have…we had…legal responsibility for his niece. She was orphaned when she was sixteen."

"And how old is she now?"

"She's nineteen, nearly twenty."

"So she's not your…responsibility any more?"

"Not legally, no."

"Tell me something about her. What sort of person is she?"

"She was going to be a dancer. She's very good, really very good. Now she's married. And expecting a baby in December."

"And what sort of _person_ is she, Bessie?"

"She's…a very good person. She's very sweet and loving. Very caring. She's devoted to her friends and family."

"And how about her husband?"

"Oh, she's devoted to _him_, all right."

"You sound as if that isn't something that brings you much pleasure, Bessie."

"No? Well, that's because it doesn't."

(pause)

"I see…and her name is?"

"Stephanie."

"Bessie, can you talk to me some more about your relationship with her?"

(sound of sobbing on the tape)

"That's one of the problems I need your help with…"


	5. Chapter 5 I Don't Mind The Rain

**Chapter Five I Don't Mind The Rain**

He lounged contentedly in the comfort of his orange chair, and nibbled the end of his pen thoughtfully_._

"Unpleasant truths," he said out loud. "A whole new challenge…well, let's see if _this_ one will tip her over the edge." He scribbled rapidly, chuckling to himself as he did so. The words flowed easily from the end of his pen.

_Do I really hate you this much?_ he wondered, re-reading the letter before putting it in the envelope. _Actually, yes…I really think I do._

"It's all right, Barbie," he said to the photograph on the wall. "I won't send her anything that will do _you_ any damage…much as it kills me to admit it, I have actually got a bit of a soft spot for you and your affable fool of a husband." He smiled to himself. "Bessie, on the other hand…" He licked the envelope and glued it shut.

"_Definitely_ a dish best served cold," he said lightly to himself, climbing up into the outside world above.

--

Jetlagged and hung over, Trixie staggered wearily through immigration and down to baggage reclaim. _Eighteen hours from Tokyo to New York_, she thought wearily. _Four hours waiting for the shuttle flight. Two hours from JFK to Metropolis. An hour stacked up over the airport, waiting to land. Plus the time difference…or is it minus the time difference? Either way, I feel dead. Okay, so, what's left? Train to Smallville. Monorail to Lazytown. Another…two hours? Three hours? _She collected her wheeled suitcase, slung her battered rucksack on top of it, and headed for the exit. _I need a shower…and some clean clothes…and to find out what day it is…_

She was so tired she was walking practically in a trance, and didn't realise someone was calling her name until her suitcase was taken out of her hands.

"Stingy!" she said, looking up in astonishment. "How did you know which flight I was taking?"

"I'm a good guesser," he said smoothly, putting his arm around her. (In fact, he had bet Pixel five bags of Doritos that he couldn't hack the passenger lists for all arrivals into JFK every day for five days without getting caught, and had neatly confiscated the resultant print-outs, scouring them for details of the inbound flights from Tokyo.) He looked her up and down in amusement. "You look completely dreadful, Trix. How was the flight?"

"Went on for ever, lots of dull businessmen in suits, strange food. God, I've never been so pleased to see you…"

"To see me, or to see my car?" asked Stingy, smiling and opening the door for her.

"Hmm…I'll have to get back to you on that one." She yawned. "If I go to sleep, I'm sorry, okay? I haven't actually been to bed for…what day is it?"

"Wednesday. Just after lunchtime."

"Really? I thought it was Tuesday…oh, well. Three days, then."

He put the car into gear.

"I thought you only left on Tuesday morning," he said mildly, as they pulled out of the car-park.

"I wasn't going to waste my last nights in Japan on _going to bed_," she murmured, and was fast asleep before they reached the end of the road.

--

_Bessie darling,_

_Well, it's been a while since we spoke, hasn't it? I really enjoyed our little chat at the Wedding of the Year. What a lovely occasion that was, wasn't it? How nice to see a couple so completely in love, and with a baby on the way too..._

_You thought I was saying it just to try and rile you, didn't you? But I'm sure you've realised by now I was right._

_Were you the last to find out, Bessie? Do you think she dreaded telling you? I would, if it were me._

_Tell me, Bessie; how did that make you feel? _

_R  
__x_

_--_

"Okay, guys," said Stephanie, clapping her hands. "First position, everyone. Marie, turn those feet out a little more…a little more…perfect. Now, _demi-plie_…and back up again. And _demi-plie_…and back up. And again…and back up. To the music…and up. Keep going, guys, that's great, you're doing really well…"

She looked over them with a critical eye. They were such lovely kids, she thought humbly to herself, and they worked so hard; she definitely had one of the best jobs in the world. (She had never stopped to wonder if part of their loveliness was because of the fun they were having, or whether they might be rather less lovely if she was teaching a maths class.)

"And seven…and eight. Well done. Now; full _plie_…and up. And full _plie_…and up. And down…and up. Okay, everyone stop. You need to go all the way down…like this. With me…and up. Come on…it's hard…but you need…to practice…I can do it…and I'm six months pregnant…" Twenty pairs of eyes watched in awe as she drifted gracefully through the _plie_.

"You're doing great," she told them encouragingly, looking at their earnest, shiny faces, seeing the quiver in the muscles of their arms and legs. "Remember it gets easier the more you work at it, so it'll never be harder than it is now. Now, second position…" Encouraging and praising all the time, she kept them at it until they reached the break.

"Good work," she said finally. "I know it's not the exciting part, but it's the foundation of everything else we do, so that's why we spend the time on it. Take a break, back in five minutes. After the break we'll be working on some real dancing." They scattered off to the corners of the room. "And remember to drink your water!" she called after them.

Pressing her hand to her side, she sat on the edge of the stage and tried to catch her breath. After her morning class finished, she was taking Aunt Bessie out for lunch in Smallville: not something she was looking forward to, but she still made a point of it, every week without fail. She longed for their old closeness, which had been missing since the day she and Sportacus had arrived back in Lazytown that still October evening. They had tumbled down the rope-ladder and stopped to kiss breathlessly in the cool, crisp air before going straight round to her uncle's house. As they stood in the living-room, hand in hand and heads held high, outlining their plans for the future, Stephanie could sense the barrier between her and her aunt growing up between them. She thought, most of the time, that Bessie still loved her; but she knew, all of the time, that Bessie was deeply unhappy with her. It was hard, spending time week after week with a woman who made it clear in every way she could that she was hurt and disappointed by the choices she had made; but she was determined to try and keep the channels of communication open.

_Is it only your own mother who can love you unconditionally?_ Stephanie wondered, thinking about the endless parade of pursed lips, disapproving glances, little jibes and the occasional tearful meltdown that had characterised her lunches with Bessie all summer and into the autumn. _Would my mother have been happy for me if she was still alive? Surely she would have understood…she must have felt the way I feel now…_ as she thought about the little stranger growing inside her, face and form and even gender still a mystery, she felt a tenderness so overpowering that she almost wept with it.

It was followed, almost instantly, by a sudden and insistent wave of dizziness and nausea. She dashed into the bathroom so she could throw up in the sink. _Morning sickness_, she thought to herself wearily. _It's more like being permanently poisoned._ She had been hoping it would pass after the first twelve weeks, but it looked as though she was stuck with it for the duration.

She straightened up, clutching the edge of the sink, turned on the taps, and rested her forehead wearily against the silvery cool of the mirror, her eyes closed, waiting for the dizziness to pass. _Just keep breathing_, she told herself. _In…out…it will go away again, it always does…then you can go back out there and finish the class…_the edges of her vision were darkening, and she could feel her knees giving way…_oh, God, I'm going to faint…_

Just as she felt herself begin to fall into the blackness that was gathering around her, two strong arms went around her, holding her firmly and lovingly, and a reproachful voice said softly in her ear,

"Stephanie, there is absolutely no point in lying to me about how you're feeling, because I _am_ going to find out."

She tried to reply, but her head was swimming too much for her to speak; she laid her head wearily against his shoulder and surrendered to the comfort of being looked after. He carried her over to a chair and made her sit with her head between her knees for a while, and sponged the back of her neck with a wet towel. When the faintness finally receded and she could sit up straight again, he knelt in front of her, stroking her hair away from her pale, clammy face. His face was full of love and concern.

"It's all right," she said weakly. "It's nothing to worry about. The baby's doing absolutely fine, the doctor said so…"

"Sweetheart, I am not worrying about the baby right now, as much as I love him or her. I am worrying about _you_." He paused. "And what do you mean, the doctor said so? When did you see him?" Stephanie looked down guiltily at her hands. "Stephanie, please, this is just not fair. You _have_ to talk to me. I need to know. All of it. You can put on a brave face for everyone else if you want, but you _mustn't_ do that with me. How can I take care of you if you don't tell me how you really are?" He smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "And how can you imagine that I am not going to know when you need me?" He touched his crystal lightly. "I know this might be annoying for you, Stephanie, but I _do_ have…a special insight. And I am going to keep using it."

"Of course it's not annoying," she said remorsefully, putting her hand on his face. He took it between his hands and kissed the palm lovingly.

"Then why are you trying to pretend everything is fine when it clearly isn't? Oh, please don't cry, sweetheart," he pleaded, seeing her eyes fill with tears, "But you _have _to be honest with me. Don't pretend with me, not ever." He kissed her. "Promise me. Please."

She nodded.

"And you are not finishing that class, either," he told her firmly. "Don't look at me like that, Stephanie, you are _not_. You are working too hard. I'll do it."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I didn't know you knew how to teach ballet."

"I don't have the faintest idea." He shrugged. "But I do know how to entertain a roomful of kids. I'll make sure they work hard and have fun. You can come and keep an eye on me if you like, but you have to sit still and rest." He took her hand and led her out of the bathroom. "Guys, change of plan! Stephanie is not feeling well right now, so we're going to do some fitness work instead! Everyone on their feet please, and down to the front of the studio…"

The class laughed and applauded, dashing eagerly into their places and staring at him with wide doe-eyes. (If there was one thing absolutely guaranteed to console a class of adolescent dancers for the cancellation of the coveted second half of their class, Stephanie thought dryly to herself, it would be the knicker-meltingly beautiful sight of her husband in his close-fitting blue tracksuit, vaulting over their heads and onto the box-stage in front of them.) Within five minutes they had no energy left to stare, and instead they were sweaty and breathless, concentrating on getting through the tough, demanding routine he was leading them through.

Inside her, the baby kicked and wriggled, and she put her hand over the place. _Hello, little stranger…only another three months until we meet you…_

_--_

_Bessie my sweet,_

_How's she doing, that little girl of yours? She doesn't look well to me. But doesn't she carry it off superbly? I'm sure only those people who really care about her have noticed._

_She has great courage, you know. Something that you and I have both conspicuously lacked, I'm sure you'll agree._

_Are you jealous, Bessie? Does it hurt to watch her blooming with something you never experienced?_

_In fact, make that two things; True Love, and Motherhood._

_Oh, I know you like to go around bleating to everyone about how You're Like A Mother To Her. But look into your heart, Bessie. Would a mother really feel so much anger towards her child?_

_Later,_

_R  
__x _

_--_

"Trixie," he said softly, shaking her awake. "Wake up, we're here."

Trixie rubbed her eyes blearily and uncoiled from the seat.

"I thought you were taking me home," she said, blinking up at the hotel facade.

"Look me in the eye and tell me that you're desperate to face your parents and explain exactly why you look as hung-over as you do, before being made to go through your luggage to get all your dirty clothes out for your mother to wash, and then going to bed early out of sheer boredom."

"Huh. You're absolutely right. You know me too well…and my parents. I should warn you I'm broke, though."

"I'm clearing my debts," said Stingy, smiling and taking her hand. "Don't worry, Trix, of course I'm paying."

"In payment for the toaster? I thought we'd agreed on dinner."

"So we did. Well, fortunately I've thought of that…when you've caught up on some sleep, I'm going to take you out for dinner as well. Trust me, Trix," he added, seeing her about to protest, "this is all going to come to about two and a half per cent of what you did for Six Thousand Ideas when you spotted that advert. Think of it as a finder's fee."

"About two and a half per cent, hey?" she said, pushing her limp hair out of her eyes with grubby fingers. "That's my boy…always on top of the numbers…okay, you talked me into it."

She was so tired she nearly fell asleep against his shoulder in the lift. He ran her a bath and insisted she got into it, then brushed the knots out of her long, tangled dark hair while she leaned against his knees, dressed in the white fluffy robe they found in the bathroom.

"That feels wonderful," she told him sleepily. "I think I'm going to have to marry you, Stingy, and keep you as my personal slave for ever and ever."

"You'd wear me out in a week," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"But still…what a week that would be, hey, Mr Millionaire?" She looked up at him through the thick fringe of her eyelashes.

Sick with longing, he leaned forward to kiss her soft lips. For a moment she was kissing him back, and then she was fast asleep, her head rolling against his knees. He laid her in the bed and peeled the damp cotton robe off her, feeling his breath catch as he realised she was completely naked underneath.

He had so rarely seen her like this (_those __rules_, he thought to himself wearily, _always the __damn rules…_) and it was difficult not to caress her as she lay unconscious and exposed in front of him. Would she actually mind if he did? He thought of some of the wild, abandoned times they had spent together

(_that last time, her standing there in those shoes and gloves, she kept them on the whole time, even when she - no, better not even think about that if you want to keep yourself under control)_

and found it hard to believe that she would. But then, the one thing she had never permitted was tenderness…

He pulled the covers up over her, sat down at the desk, and took out a stack of Six Thousand Ideas paperwork.

--

_B,_

_No reply to my last, I notice. I'm sure you got it, though…in fact, I watched you open it. You thought about throwing it in the wastepaper basket, didn't you? And then you decided not to, in case Milford found it._

_Did you wonder if you were going mad, to imagine he might bother to go through the rubbish? Well, you'll be pleased to know he still does. Four years on the wagon and counting, and he still doesn't feel he can trust you._

_But then, he's probably right not to, isn't he? Or was I imagining things when I thought I nearly managed to convince you to join me in a little tipple the other month?_

_That was just one of the many tastes we had in common, wasn't it, Bessie? We liked the same drink, and we liked the same man._

_I wonder which one of us he preferred? And I bet you still wonder, too, don't you?_

_R  
__x_

_--_

"Aunt Bessie?"

"Stephanie? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine…I just…I have to cancel our lunch, Aunt Bessie. I'm sorry."

"Oh…well, don't worry, dear. If you have something else you need to do instead, something more important, we can always reschedule."

"Oh _no_, Aunt Bessie, it's not that at all! It's just that…" Stephanie sighed. "I've been feeling a bit tired and…I think I need to start taking things a bit more slowly."

"Have you seen the Doctor?" Her voice was sharp with concern.

"Yes, I saw him yesterday. Don't worry, the baby's fine."

_I couldn__'__t care less about the damn baby_, thought Bessie to herself. _It__'__s nothing but a drain on her. He should have known better…_

"And how are you?" she asked, trying and failing to soften her voice. "Is _he_ taking good care of you?"

"If you mean Sportacus, then yes, of course he is."

I just bet he is," said Bessie bitterly. "Of course _he__'__s_ thrilled about the whole thing. Anything that makes it harder for you to leave Lazytown...it's just a shame he didn't take a bit more care when - when he - when you - " Bessie had meant to be calm at least, if she couldn't be kind, but the rage she had carried around in her since Stephanie had first told her about the baby was too strong for her to hide.

"All right. I need you to stop right there," said Stephanie firmly. "You can't talk about him like that, Aunt Bessie; I just won't have it. Be as angry as you want with me, but I'm not going to listen to you insult my husband."

"Stephanie, I'm not angry with you at all, I just…you look so tired, dear. You haven't looked well for weeks. The baby - I don't know it, it's not a person to me yet, it's just a sort of blob…" She meant to go on and say, _But I love you as if you were my daughter, I hate seeing you looking so drained_, but Stephanie interrupted her.

"But it's a person to _me_…part of our family. And, and…you're the closest he or she will have to a grandmother…and I would so love to feel that some part of you feels able to welcome our child into the world…" She could hear the wobble in her voice.

"I know, dear." Bessie sighed. "I know it means a lot to you. Maybe more than it should…"

"Aunt Bessie!" she wailed. She took a deep breath and tried to be calm. "You know, I can feel it moving all the time now…the next time I see you you'll have to try and see if you can feel it too."

"Mmm. And how was the class this morning?"

"Fine, they're doing really well. I love teaching so much, Aunt Bessie, it's just the best feeling…"

_That baby,_ thought Bessie, not really listening. _If it wasn__'__t for the baby, she__'__d still be training, I__'__m sure of it. The stardust would be wearing off by now, she__'__d be more willing to think about carrying on. Then once she was back in Metropolis, she__'__d be on the scene, there would be job offers coming her way__…and instead she's…_

"Well, I think I'd better be going, Stephanie. I'll call you tomorrow, maybe we can reschedule lunch. Only if you can fit me in, of course?"

"That sounds good," said Stephanie, sighing. "Goodbye, Aunt Bessie."

She snapped her phone shut, and looked at Sportacus leaning against the wall of the studio and watching her.

"Am I still the bad guy?" he asked with a smile.

"You're still the bad guy," she agreed.

"Oh, well. Maybe one day she'll forgive me. Don't look so _worried_, sweetheart. I'd prefer it if she was happier with me being in your life, but she is allowed to feel however she wants."

"You're too good to be real," she whispered, putting her arms around him.

"No, I'm just too happy to be cross with anyone…oh, Stephanie, we really can't do this here…much as I would love to…" He kissed the side of her neck lovingly.

"No, I know…married couples aren't supposed to behave like this."

"Your aunt must be right…clearly we're a terrible example of a married couple. Oh, now that is _definitely_ not something we should be doing in your dance studio… although, on the other hand…"

His crystal beeped and they reluctantly let go of each other.

"Hold onto that thought," he whispered, and disappeared from the studio.

--

"This must be what it's like to be married."

Stingy put down his calculator. Trixie was sitting up in bed, her hair spilling over her shoulders.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Best Man, that I am in this bed all alone and completely naked, and you're sitting at the table doing _accounts_. I feel like Madame Bovary." She laughed at the expression on his face. "I'm teasing, Stingy, you half-wit. Although I'm kind of disappointed not to find you in here with me."

He turned away so she wouldn't see the look of naked longing on his face. "Wouldn't dare to presume, Trix," he laughed instead, neatly restacking his papers. Then he nearly jumped out of his skin as she was suddenly behind him, deftly wrapping a blindfold over his eyes.

"Well, I _am _going to presume," she whispered in his ear. "I am going to presume… that you're still on the market and unattached…and therefore it is perfectly okay for me to do _this…_" he reached out to find her with his hands, but she stepped back out of his reach. "Here are the rules, Stingy. Are you paying attention?"

"Yes," he said hoarsely.

"Rule number one: you can't touch me. At all. No, don't argue, I haven't finished yet. Rule number two: I can touch you…as much as I choose." As she spoke, she was unfastening his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders. "And rule number three…" he felt her wrap something smooth and silky around his wrists and pull it tight. "Rule number three is that, just to make sure you keep the first rule…I'm going to make sure your hands are tied."

Slowly and carefully, she undressed him, pressing herself enticingly against him, laughing a little as he groaned with the frustration of not being able to touch her. He was lost and disoriented within the room. She led him over towards what he thought was the bed, but then she pushed him gently backwards and he found he was sitting on the sofa. Then he was gasping in shock and delight as she suddenly, blissfully, took him deep into her mouth, kissing and nuzzling him. A minute of unbelievable pleasure, and then she was gone again, and he heard her laugh from the other side of the room.

"Back in a minute, Mr Millionaire," she told him softly. "Don't go away…" he heard the sound of her bag being unfastened, and then a pause.

"Is that what the guy on the train showed you?" he asked her.

"Actually, no," she said. "Although I do want to show you that later… this is just something I picked up on my last night in Tokyo that made me think of you…" she could hear her voice getting nearer, and then she was sitting in his lap. "But would you like me to tell you about the lovely Akahiko, and his lovely box of tricks?"

"No!" he barked. _Careful. _"No. I don't want to hear about him…I want…" _I just want you to be all mine. I just want to be allowed to fall in love with you._

"I know what you want, Stingy," she whispered in his ear as she straddled him.

_If you knew what I wanted, you wouldn't even mention his name_, he thought despairingly, and buried his face in her hair.

--

_Well hello again Bessie,_

_Are you still angry at them both? Do you still wake up in the middle of the night wishing you could turn the clock back?_

_I bet it just kills you, doesn't it, to see your perfect little girl throwing her life away like that? And the worst thing of all is that you know precisely why she's doing it…I can still remember what it's like, even after all these years. Can you?_

_Although of course there is one crucial difference. Number Nine never loved either of us, did he? Whereas Sportacus…he'll never leave her. Never in this world._

_I wonder, Bessie: can you even bear to let that buffoon you married out of pity and guilt anywhere near you? Especially now that you're sober?_

_R  
__x_


	6. Chapter 6 I'm Not In Love

**Chapter Six - I'm Not In Love**

_(For Robbie's biggest fan, because I promised I wouldn't leave him lonely any longer - this one's for you, honey. He's still the villain, but even the villain needs a little sunshine in his life sometimes…)_

--

Every large town had a place like it, although only those who really looked would know how to find it. Metropolis was no different.

He knew that no-one from home could possibly find him here, in this quiet street that was just on the wrong side of the tracks, but out of habit he looked over his shoulder anyway before knocking at the plain wooden door. A small shutter opened and a face peered out.

"Your name, please?" the face asked politely.

"Mr Rottenburg," he said. "Visiting from LA."

"And do you have your certificate?"

He posted the slim white envelope from the clinic through the shutter.

"Let me see…dated last week…that's all fine, Mr Rottenburg. Welcome to the Bath House." The door opened and Robbie slid gracefully inside. Behind the plain door was a long, marbled hallway, with elegant pseudo-Grecian statuary, all of young men, in deep alcoves lined with oyster-coloured silk.

"Can I take your jacket, Mr Rottenburg?" asked the doorman.

Robbie looked reflectively down at the immaculate lines of his crisp white linen suit.

"No," he said thoughtfully, taking off his aviator shades and tucking them into his top pocket, "I'll keep it…I wouldn't want to ruin the look."

"Just as you like, Mr Rottenburg. Enjoy your evening."

--

"Trixie? Are you ready? Oh, my _God_…that looks so sexy I can't tell you. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Maybe I should have come as Lex Luthor instead, I bet he'd know what to do with you…come here, you naughty little girl…"

Trixie smiled demurely. She was dressed in over-the-knee socks, a short blue pleated skirt, a white shirt unfastened just one button too far, and a demure grey cardigan. Her hair was twisted up into neat bunches on the top of her head.

"Good evening, Brett," she said, "or should I say…_Superman_?"

"I bet Superman never got Lois Lane to wear that kind of outfit," Brett murmured breathily, sliding his hand up underneath her skirt. "Don't push me away, Trixie, that's not fair…what's the point of dressing like that if you're not going to let me near you?"

"The point is that we're late," she said shortly, picking up a two bottles of wine.

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure the party will still be going on fifteen minutes from now…come on, Trixie, just come here for a minute, let me…"

"I said _no_." Trixie pushed him away again. "Later, okay…?"

"Christ, you're a tease. I'm as horny as - "

"I'm a tease? And this is news to you? Let's go."

Locking the door to her room, she remembered the first time she had worn this school uniform, the look on Stingy's face when she had modelled it for him the morning after she came home from Tokyo.

_Is that what you think I'm into?_ he had asked, raising his eyebrows. The mildness in his voice was belied by the desire she could see rising in his eyes.

_You knew me when I was young enough to wear one,_ she reminded him.

_You looked beautiful then_, he said honestly. _But you look even better now…_

_Get out of my head, Stingy_, she said to herself firmly, and allowed Brett to take her hand and lead her possessively down to the party.

--

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" Jennifer asked him, leaning across the table and taking his hands.

"We've been dating for two and a half months," Stingy pointed out, smiling.

"Oh, I wasn't asking about us…" she rolled her eyes comically. "God forbid…I was just curious, that's all."

"Hmmm. Well, that depends on how you define _love_." He paused. "And _first sight_. And _believe_."

She looked at him blankly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well…there are so many kinds of love, aren't there? There's romantic love…and friendship…and lust…and the love you feel for your parents…and the love they feel for you. Then - when do you count "first sight" from? Is it literally the first time you see someone? Or the first time you notice them as a possible lover? And lastly, there's the concept of belief…do you mean, _do I believe it regardless of the evidence or the lack of it_? Or do you mean _have I seen empirical evidence that proves that it's true_?…What?"

"It's just a question," she said, laughing and shaking her hair out of her eyes. "A simple yes or no would have done. With a couple of illustrated examples."

Stingy smiled back at her as she poured more wine into her glass. In his head he was idly conducting an re-run of this utterly inane conversation with Trixie. _Begin by defining 'love' for me, Stingy boy. Are we talking about that sudden madness that the Sicilians call "the thunderbolt"? Because there's pretty good evidence that it exists…but it doesn't last. I believe mostly it's gone after about eighteen months. So can you call it 'love'? Is love something that can appear and then disappear again? _

_Or do you mean that unique mixture of friendship, irritation, admiration and helpless lust that you feel for me? Is that love, Stingy? Is it?_

"So, _do_ you believe?" she asked him again.

"Do I believe in what?"

"In love at first sight."

"I told you…it depends on exactly what you mean by _love_…and _first sight…_and _believe_."

She sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said contritely. "I just like things to be accurate, that's all…"

_You're not sorry, Stingy,_ Trixie said to him inside his head._ You're _bored_. Own and acknowledge your true emotions, Mr Millionaire._

"I _said_, since you're being such a pedant about it, it's your turn to ask a question. Are you sure you're still sober?"

"I never drink when I'm driving," he said lightly.

"Very responsible…that's a good trait to have, you know."

_Wouldn't want to risk crashing that hot little sports car, would you?_ He had to stop this; it was unfair to Jennifer, who really liked him, and who was pretty and sexy and bright and sweet.

"Okay…" he stared at the ceiling for inspiration. Out of nowhere he thought about the weekend, when he and Trixie had driven back to Lazytown to see Stephanie and exclaim over her blossoming bump. "Do you think nineteen is too young to get married and have a baby?"

"Do I _what_?"

"Oh, God, sorry, Jennifer, I wasn't thinking of - I didn't mean - " he laughed at the expression on her face. "I'm really sorry. You must think I'm insane…I was just thinking about someone I know back home…a girl I went to school with."

"And she's married with a baby on the way?" Jennifer shrugged. "Obviously not college material, then."

"That's a terrible way to judge someone," said Stingy crossly.

"Oh, don't act like we don't all do it. We're not studying economics at MIT because we're firm believers that we're all created equal, are we?"

"Stephanie is one of the nicest, sweetest girls I know," he said firmly. "And she was training at the Conservatoire in Metropolis."

"And then some guy knocked her up? Well, that was bad luck, but there's a solution for that, you know…"

"She'd never do that. _They'd _never do that. And they were getting married anyway. They're completely happy, they've been in love with each other for years. They're probably about the most perfectly matched couple I know."

"Well, it sounds like you've made your mind up," Jennifer said severely. "Why did you ask if you're not interested in my answer?"

--

He went to the bar and ordered a Sunset Boulevard. He preferred scotch on the rocks, but Mr Rottenburg from LA was loyal to his home town…he watched out of the corner of his eye as a blonde-haired, green-eyed boy of about twenty, rangy and fresh-faced, detached himself from the group and came to sit on the bar stool next to him.

"Are you new here?" he asked.

Robbie smiled at him.

"It's my first time. Maybe you can show me the ropes."

"I'd be delighted…what's your name?"

"Bob Rottenburg. I'm here on business. I'm from LA."

"Very nice to meet you, Mr Rottenburg. And…what's my name?"

Robbie took a mouthful of his cocktail, grimacing at its sweetness.

"Why don't you tell me?"

"Okay…then I'm Brad. An aspiring actor. Are you in the industry, Mr Rottenburg?"

"Please, Brad, call me Bob."

"Are you in the industry, Bob?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. I'm looking for a beautiful boy to play the lead part in my new movie. It's about two cowboys who fall in love one summer while they're herding sheep."

"Sounds hot."

"It could be…but only if we get the right male leads."

"I'd love the chance to audition…Bob."

Robbie smiled.

"I think we can manage that, Brad. I have a private suite booked upstairs. Perhaps you'd like to come along with me and show me what you can do?"

"That sounds like a wonderful opportunity. Shall we go now?"He hesitated.

"Why don't you let me buy you a drink first? What would you like?"

"A diet coke, please."

"Really? How extremely abstemious of you."

"I never drink when I'm working…that is, I never drink while I'm…preparing for an audition. I think it's important to be…at the peak of my skills…when I'm performing for someone as discerning as you." He glanced flirtatiously up through his thick fringe of gold lashes.

Robbie signalled the bartender, and a diet coke arrived in a perfectly frosted glass.

--

In the bedroom of their new, tiny house on the outskirts of town, Stephanie stood naked in front of the mirror in the bedroom, critically looking at herself in the moonlight. Her face looked the same as it always had, and the long pink hair that flowed in cornsilk waves over her shoulders. Her feet were just her feet, the same neat, slim shape they had always been, and now neatly pedicured by Trixie, who had insisted on giving her a top-to-toe pampering session when she visited at the weekend. Daily dance exercises and yoga had kept her legs and bottom firm and toned. But then, oh, then…she looked in amazement at the firm, round, pale swell of her stomach, reminding her tonight of the full moon that shone in through the skylight and the open window where the curtains blew softly in the breeze.

_Can I really have another four weeks to go?_ she thought to herself in astonishment. _I feel so huge already…can there possibly be enough room for this baby to grow for a whole extra month before it's born? _She turned sideways and studied her profile, sighing. _And will I ever be slim and lithe and energetic again?_

She turned away from the mirror and realised he was standing silently in the bedroom doorway, leaning on the door-frame with his arms folded and watching her.

"That is the most unbelievably beautiful sight I have ever seen in my life," he said softly.

She blushed scarlet.

"How long have you been there?" she asked him accusingly.

"Not nearly long enough…what's the matter? You think I'm joking?" He came and stood behind her, turning her towards the mirror once more. "Look at yourself, Stephanie. No, don't turn away like that. You look absolutely wonderful."

"I look _enormous_."

"Yes," he agreed calmly. "And wonderful. You are eight months pregnant, sweetheart. This is exactly how you're supposed to look."

She looked down at the curve of her belly and at his broad hand resting against it.

"How I'm supposed to look is one thing. What's actually _nice_ to look at…"

He chuckled.

"You don't think you're nice to look at? Stephanie, if you knew - " he stopped.

"If I knew what?"

He smiled at her through the mirror. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does…tell me…please. I need all the support I can get. Today I feel very huge and very, very unattractive."

"Well, I was only going to say that…that if I didn't know how tired and sick you've been, I would have you on that bed with me and…" She felt his hands tremble as they rested on her body. "This will all keep, sweetheart, until this baby is born and you feel well again, but please, don't imagine you're anything less than completely desirable…"

"You really mean that?"

He raised his eyebrows. "You think I'm _faking_?"

She took his hand and led him over to the bed.

"You know, we've been living in this house for two weeks and we haven't christened the bed yet," she murmured in his ear.

He hesitated for a moment longer, so she took his hands and showed him where she wanted him to touch her, and laid one hand flat on his chest so she could feel his heart racing.

--

"That was wonderful," she said, nestling against his chest.

"No problem," he said distractedly, kissing the top of her head.

"You're supposed to say, _Yes it was,_" said Jennifer, sighing.

"Oh, all right, then…yes, it was."

"No, now it's no good…you don't mean it, you're just saying it to make me happy."

"Look, what is it that you want me to say?" Stingy asked, irritated.

"I just want you to…I want you to…"

_She wants you to feel the same as she does_, said Trixie's voice in his head.

"When you make love to me, at the time it's totally wonderful. You know just what to do, you really know your way around my body, and at the time, I just can't believe anyone could make me feel like that and not feel something for me in return." She squinted up at him. "And then afterwards I snuggle up against you and you put your arm around me and we talk, but it doesn't mean anything, does it? It's all just mechanical. You can be that good to me because you don't really care. I don't think you've ever once been focused on me entirely in all the times we've been to bed together, have you?"

"Look, Jennifer, what is it that you want? We have a good time, don't we? We enjoy each other's company when we go out. I thought you said enjoyed it just now…what else is there?"

"You really are a cold-hearted bastard, do you know that?"

"What? Why? What have I done?" But he knew, really. She was right; his heart wasn't in it; he was never really concentrating on her. Even when they were wrapped around each other in Jennifer's bed, a small corner of his mind was imagining how it would be to have Trixie there instead, smaller and slimmer and fiercer, demanding and challenging and unbelievably exciting. Once, in the middle of the night, he had dreamed that he was with Trixie, and had woken to find Jennifer in his arms instead; he had had to close his eyes and pretend to avoid disappointing her…

She was crying a little, trying to hide it. She was tall and blonde and beautiful and had been the smartest girl in her graduating class, and her parents were comfortably well-off and she had won a place on one of the toughest courses in the world, and she was not used to not getting what she wanted.

"I'm really sorry, Jennifer," said Stingy softly, getting out of her bed.

"Yeah, I bet," she said bitterly. "Who is she?"

"Who?"

"The girl that stole your heart."

"What makes you think anyone stole it?"

She looked at him thoughtfully as he buttoned up his shirt.

Well, you certainly don't have it any more, do you?"

--

They lay in each other's arms, sweaty and out of breath, the immaculate white cotton sheets in a tangle at the foot of the bed. In pictures and paintings on the walls around them, naked young men wrestled and danced and writhed, impossibly perfect bodies and faces endlessly repeated in a frieze of arrogant male beauty. The room smelled of scotch and Hugo Boss aftershave and lubricant.

"So, do I get the part, Mr Rottenburg?" the boy asked at last.

"It's all right, you can stop now, David…have a drink." Robbie reached over to the table at the side of the bed where a bucket of ice reposed next to a bottle of scotch.

"I told you…I don't drink while I'm working. Haven't you ever noticed?"

"Aren't you off duty now?"

He hesitated. "You paid until midnight."

"So I did. You're right. Stick to the diet coke. I might want you to - audition for me again later."

"Whatever you say, Mr Rottenburg…." he laughed. "You're always so convincing, Robbie. If I didn't know it was you, if you hadn't booked me, I might have actually thought…"

"Oh, yes, I'm a master of disguise all right," Robbie said, half to himself.

"If I was going to disguise myself," said David thoughtfully, resting his head on Robbie's chest and looking at the ceiling, "I'd be a superhero."

In spite of himself, Robbie laughed.

"Well, I'll admit you have the body for it. And the almost boringly perfect good looks…any particular one, or would you invent your own?"

"Maybe Superman…he's hot, and a really nice person. Or Batman. All that rubber, and all those gadgets. Very S and M. How about you?"

"Superheroes are over-rated," said Robbie shortly.

"Supervillains more your style?" Robbie shrugged. "Dr Rottenstein, doing examinations to check on everyone's health - oh, that was _fun_. Bob Rotter, travelling salesman. Robbie Meansbad, public official from out of town. Reverend Rottenwell - I definitely enjoyed meeting him…"

"I nearly didn't get past the doorman with that one," admitted Robbie.

"And who are you really? Have I ever been with the real Robbie Rotten?"

Robbie looked at him in disbelief.

"And why in God's name would you want to be with _him_?"

--

"So how are we actually going to do this?"

His blue eyes were warm and loving. "I'm sure we can think of something…how about we try something like…"

"You've done this before," she said, smiling as he expertly turned and caressed her.

"Oddly enough, Stephanie, I have _never _before had the pleasure of making love to my very beautiful eight-months-pregnant wife in our brand new bed in our brand new house on the ground…"

"So how come…ohhh, that's so lovely…how come you know…just what to do?"

"You inspire me," he whispered in her ear. "Are you sure this is all right?"

She shivered with pleasure under his touch. "Can't you tell how _all right_ it is?"

--

"Well, you're a lot better than some of the other men who come here, that's for sure."

Robbie laughed sarcastically.

"That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said about me. The nicest borderline pederast who regularly uses the services of Metropolis's most upmarket gay brothel. You really shouldn't say these things to me, it makes me feel all mushy inside..."

"You shouldn't talk about yourself like that."

"Why not? Which part do you disagree with?"

"I just think you're an okay person," said David, shrugging.

Robbie looked down at him irritably.

"That's because you're for sale for five hundred dollars a night to whoever's willing to pay. Your definition of _an okay person_ is someone who doesn't burn you with cigarettes and uses enough lube." He stroked David's back where the scars were still faintly visible. "Did he ever come back, by the way?"

"Actually, no, I never saw him again…you didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"

(A hundred-dollar tip to the doorman on the way out, a message whispered languidly in his ear: _You might like to know, Muscle Man, that whoever was with David last night has been - let's say - damaging the merchandise…I know he won't have mentioned it, because if we tip them enough they never tell tales, but if I were you I'd make sure that particular customer's name goes on The List. You wouldn't want that delicious young boy losing his customer base because someone liked to play rough, would you?_ Money well spent…)

"Maybe he was just disappointed in your performance."

David looked up at him with his huge, witchy green eyes. "I never disappoint."

_And dear God, isn't that the honest truth…you're wasted on a place like this and on someone like me…_

"Not so far," he said out loud, stroking his back, "but there's always a first time."

"So you didn't do anything about - him?"

"Beating people up isn't really my style, especially not when they haven't done anything to me." _Although tipping off the Human Rock out there in the lobby…getting him blacklisted from every club in the state…brains win out over brawn every time. So that's up _your _nose with a rubber hose, Sportacus._

"You're the only person who knew…and you've been asking for me regularly for nearly a year now. I thought maybe you might be looking out for me."

Robbie laughed to cover his embarrassment.

"David, my dear, some people think a comet is going to come and take them away to a higher plane of consciousness. Don't look at me with those huge doe-eyes, for God's sake. Oh, dear Lord, I think I can see where this is going…" Robbie ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. "Look, there's something we need to get clear between us. Do you know why I pay for all of this rather than just going out to some bar and hustling for a little rough trade?"

"I don't know." David smiled with the touch of cynicism that Robbie found so irresistible. "Is it because I come with a certificate saying I'm clean?"

Robbie chuckled. "Touché. That certainly _helps_, I admit…but the main reason is because _I don't do love_."

"I never said anything about love - "

"Oh, come on. I'm not an idiot…Have you ever read _Vanity Fair_?" He sighed. "Well, of _course_ you haven't. So, in the absence of any shared cultural reference points, let me tell you one of the great truths about the world. There are, as Mr Thackeray so acutely observed, two parties to any love transaction; the one who gets kissed, and the one does the kissing. And if you're the one doing the kissing, then ultimately you're going to get utterly and royally fucked over."

David looked at him in bewilderment.

"You know what love is?" Robbie continued. "_Love is power_. When you love someone, they have power over you. And power corrupts. Power leads good people to do bad things, and bad people to do…well, a quick glance through _my_ curriculum vitae would give you a pleasing insight. People with power abuse people without it. Just because they can. Just because it's fun."

"I wouldn't do that," protested David. "I know what it's like to be vulnerable, I wouldn't ever do that to someone else - "

"I'm not talking about _you_, you fool. I'm talking about _me_." He looked sternly into the young man's eyes. "Don't you go falling in love with me. I'm warning you. I'm a bad person, David, all the way bad. Do that and I'll end up taking advantage of you. And that's not something you want to see."

--

"Come on, Trixie, _please_ let me - "

"No. You're drunk and sloppy and I'm not in the mood any more."

"Not in the _mood_ - that iss sho out of order." He was slurring his words slightly. "You dresh - dress up like a Japaneshe Britney Spears, you keep me on a knife-edge all night…don't you dare back out on me now. Christ, when we were kissing in the kitchen just now I thought I was going to - "

"Okay, that really is just too much information, boy." Trixie looked at him mockingly. "So, man on a hair-trigger, what's in it for me? You think you're really up to the job after all that beer?"

His kiss was wet and loose, and he spilled beer down her shirt as he groped for her. Trixie shivered with distaste.

"You know, if you even _imagine _you're going to get anything from me tonight, you're going to have to stop slobbering on me right now," she ordered him.

"Sure, whatever you shay," he murmured, nuzzling against her neck and pushing her towards the bed.

She really wasn't in the mood, but she figured the quickest way to get rid of him was to let him have what he wanted. Eyes closed in disgust, she lay perfectly still while he gasped and fumbled and pushed into her. In less than a minute it was over and he was asleep on top of her. With some difficulty, she wriggled out from underneath him and silently made her way back to her dorm, feeling grubby and tired and dissatisfied.

_Well, you pick enough fruit from the tree, sooner or later some of it's going to have a worm in it_, she said to herself. _Write that one off to experience._

_And what's the point of that kind of experience, Trix?_ she heard Stingy say inside her head.

_Oh shut up._

--

"Are you actually taking an interest in me, Robbie?"

He smiled. "Making conversation while I summon the energy for a repeat audition… how _did_ you end up here?"

David shrugged. "My dad left when I was a kid. We never had much money. I always knew I was gay. When I was about fifteen I figured out men would pay me for a quick look at the goods, so to speak. I had a place at college, but the money wasn't there. A friend told me about this place, they auditioned me, I got in. I thought I was going to make a fortune, but somehow I end up spending most of it on clothes…" he shrugged. "You have to dress for the part, you see." He gestured towards the immaculate white Armani t-shirt lying crumpled on top of the perfectly distressed designer jeans. "Five hundred dollars a night? Is that really what you pay for me?"

"You and the room, and the discretion…and your health certificate. Why, how much of that do you see?"

"A hundred and fifty."

"And how many clients a week?"

"I'm booked most nights," said David lightly, running his fingers through his hair. Robbie looked at him, at the terrible innocence of youth imagining that hurt could be disguised so easily, and sighed. _I'm so sorry,_ he thought to himself, but didn't say it out loud.

"Robbie," said David suddenly, "Who are you? Who are you really?" He hesitated. "Sometimes when we're together, you can be so gentle, Robbie, so kind…and then sometimes you just act like you can't stand to be around me…"

Robbie looked at him in sudden anger.

"You want to know who the real Robbie Rotten is, David? I'm a man who could have been anything, but who ended up a bitter, lonely human being in a small dead-end town. I'm a man who sends spiteful letters to a woman who I used to be close to, just because I can and I find it amusing to see her suffer, and because she upsets me with her sanctimonious attitude towards her niece. I'm a man who pays a stupid, beautiful boy half his age to have sex with him every week or so, because it's easy and because I can afford it and because you're for sale…Oh, what? You thought you were going to hear about how my father didn't love me and I hated myself for being _different_ and if only I had the love of a good man, I could be so much more than I am? Don't imagine for one minute I'm a good person, David, because I'm not. Now stop being so sappy and pathetic…and get down there and _audition_ for me."

He glared angrily at the blond head bent over his body.

_And you're so sweet and so young…if I still had a heart, you'd be breaking it._

--

"Is that you, Stingy?" Pixel called from the corner where he sat huddled over his computer. His face was lit an eerie green as he battled with on-screen zombies.

"No, it's that burglar you gave a key to in the bar the other week," said Stingy, hanging his coat up.

"I thought you were staying over at Jennifer's place?"

"You thought that, did you?"

"It's all off then," said Pixel. "Comeoncomeoncomeon….yesssss!"

"So it would seem."

"Fair enough."

Stingy sat down on the tattered couch and closed his eyes. He felt grubby and tired and dissatisfied.

"So…do you want to talk about it?"Stingy winced.

"Good God, no. Really, Pixel, it's fine. Just…just go on keeping the world safe from the zombies."

"Fair enough," said Pixel peaceably. "Just thought I'd ask."

--

"See you another time then?" said David.

"No, I think this was a flying visit," said Robbie, back in character. "But I have a friend…Herr Rottenmeister…who is flying in from Germany for an auction of fine European Art…I think I'll be recommending he calls on you." He took out his wallet and carelessly tucked a folded note inside the pocket of David's jeans. "Here. Have an afternoon off on me. Don't tell the management or they'll take fifteen per cent off the top." A photograph fell out of his pocket and David picked it up curiously.

"Who are they?" he asked, handing it back. "_He's _seriously hot."

"Oh, just some boring couple I know from back home…they got married last year. Now they really _are_ an object lesson in why you should never fall in love."

"Aren't they happy?"

"Sickeningly so. In that relationship, believe me, they _both _do the kissing…"

"So what's the problem?"

"They're the two most tedious people you'll ever meet, is the problem. I can't spend more than ten minutes in their company without wanting to throw myself under a passing car."

"Then why do you carry their photograph in your wallet?"

"To remind myself of who I really am," said Robbie enigmatically. He kissed David lightly on the lips, and left.

David unfolded the note in his pocket and discovered that Robbie had tipped him five hundred dollars.

--

"So, is this bed christened now, do you think?"

"I think that'll do it…" she smiled and snuggled closer to him. "Can I ask you something?"

"What's the matter?"

"Do you mind - this? Living in a house, I mean, like everyone else…and not on the airship any more?"

"Do I _mind_? What on earth are you talking about?"

"It's just you've lived there for so long…_we_ lived there together, it was our first home…"

"Well, firstly, and apart from anything else, if we get homesick we can always walk the fifty feet across the garden to the rope ladder and climb straight back up there," he said, kissing her. "And secondly…I really don't think an airship is the best place to raise our child. Although I'm sure we'll still spend plenty of time up there."

"So you don't mind?"

"Of course not! But since we're asking…do _you_ mind how different things are this year to last? Do you miss your friends from college? Are you nervous about the birth, or how things will be afterwards? Do you ever wish we'd done things differently?"

"No, no, no! Not ever, not for a second. This is everything I've ever wanted…"

Two hours later he woke up from a deep sleep with the certain knowledge that she needed him. He found her in the bathroom, kneeling on the floor with her forehead pressed against the side of the bath, and was horrified to realise she was bleeding.

He took her straight up to the airship. Stephanie was terrified and moaning with pain as he carried her in through the doors of the hospital.

"Stephanie? Can you hear me? It's Doctor Galen. It looks like your baby's decided to make an early appearance…it's all right, nurse, I've been expecting this for months, she's been very lucky to make it this far…how far on? Thirty-six weeks? Well, that should be enough. Hold on, Stephanie, we're going to take care of you now. This isn't going to be much fun, I'm afraid, but I think you're both going to be all right…"


	7. Chapter 7 Extract from Tape 2

**Extract of Tape Recording: Psychotherapy session Number Twelve  
**_Psychotherapist:_ Dr Richard Kaye  
_Patient:_ Mrs Elizabeth Meanswell

"Bessie, it's time we talked some more about your feelings regarding your niece."

"Oh…all right. If you say so."

"How do you feel about doing some work in this area, Bessie? Can you describe your emotions at this moment?"

"I suppose…nervous."

"And why do you think that it makes you _nervous_ to talk about Stephanie?"

"Because…because…"

(sound of crying on the tape)

"Bessie, I understand that this is difficult for you, but it is important that we make some progress in this area. I think we've already established that your current struggle to stay sober appears to date from the period of your niece's marriage."

"Yes…I suppose we have…"

"Why don't you tell me something about how you first came to meet her?"

"Well…when she was eight years old, she came to stay with her Uncle…"

"That would be Milford, your husband?"

"Yes."

"I've noticed, Bessie, that you consistently prefer to describe him as 'Stephanie's uncle' rather than 'my husband'."

(silence)

"Do I?"

"Yes, you do." (pause) "Are you able to offer any insights into why that might be, Bessie?"

(silence for forty-eight seconds)

"God damn it, you're just going to sit there in silence until I give you an answer, aren't you?"

"I think it is pertinent to your recovery that you do so."

"And supposing I don't want to answer it?"

"Do you want to get better, Bessie?"

"I - yes, you _know_ I do…oh, don't think I can't see where you're going with this, Doctor Kaye. You want me to say that it's because I don't think of him as my husband at all, that I only married him because of Stephanie…"

"And why do you think I want you to say that?"

"I don't know, because it give you some sort of sick pleasure to - " (pause) "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"I'm not upset, Bessie. Anger is a normal part of the therapeutic process. Especially when the therapist and patient together touch on some - profound but uncomfortable truth." (pause) "Bessie? Does that have any resonance for you?"

"It's true that I didn't agree to marry him until she was orphaned…but…but…"

"But what?"

"But it _wasn't_ like that, it _wasn't_!"

"What was it _not like_, Bessie?"

"It wasn't just about being important to Stephanie - "

"Important…that's a _very _interesting word to choose. Let's talk about _importance_ some more, shall we? Bessie? Do you agree this is a significant area to explore?"

(inaudible)

"Bessie?"

"Yes…"

"Very well. Where would you like to start?"

"Where would _I_ like to start?"

"I have told you many times, Bessie; the core of this process is that you must take ownership of it. I am here to guide you, no more."

"All right…well. She came to stay with him for the summer when she was eight years old. I was working for the Mayor…"

"That's your husband?"

"Yes, I was working for _my husband_."

"Mmmm." (sound of pen scratching on paper)

"I'm doing it again, aren't I? I'm avoiding calling him 'my husband'."

"I'm glad you've begun to notice this for yourself."

"So. That summer, _he_ came to the town as well."

"Forgive me, Bessie; who is _he_?"

"Sportacus. The - well, I suppose you'd say that he's the…the town super-hero."

"Ah."

(silence)

"You think I'm insane, don't you?"

"Actually, Bessie, I'm well aware of the…unique situation regarding Lazytown. I just hadn't realised that he was your niece's husband."

"But - how can you tell that he is? We haven't talked about it yet - "

"Because…well, for a start, you also always refer to your niece's husband as _him_. Am I wrong to presume that they are one and the same person?"

"No, you're right. That's who she married."

"Thank you, Bessie." (sound of pen on paper) "Please, do continue."

"It was only supposed to be for the summer, but really, Doctor Kaye, her parents… before she was born, they just went racketing around the world - they didn't need to work, of course, her mother was independently wealthy - and when she was born, I don't think they had the first idea of how to cope. They couldn't wait to wave her off at the station; a little girl just eight years old, and they didn't even come with her to make sure she arrived there safely. And at the end of the summer, her uncle - _damn_ it - _my husband _- asked them if they would like Stephanie to stay on a little longer, and of course they said yes. They couldn't wait to get rid of her, if you ask me…"

"And why was that?"

"She cramped their style, of course. She was a drag. They had to stay in the same place for more than a few weeks at a time. Poor little scrap, she was desperate for some love and security."

"And was she able to find that?"

"Oh, yes, definitely…she made friends, she settled in at the school, she was as happy as could be. And of course _he_ was there as well."

"And by _he_ you mean - ?"

"Sportacus."

"And what role do you feel he played in her life?"

"When she was younger, I suppose he was like a big brother to her…to all of the children, really, but he was always especially fond of her. I thought they'd grow apart as she grew up, but they stayed very close friends. And then eventually, I suppose, they, well, they - "

"They what, Bessie?"

"They fell in love."

"And when was this?"

"Oh…the summer she was eighteen."

"Not before?"

"Not before."

"You're certain?"

"Very."

"You don't sound as if that is something that pleases you."

"Maybe it doesn't."

"Bessie, given your niece's age at the time when this happened, for you to be upset that there was nothing happening between them before…to say the least, that's an…unusual reaction."

"I wouldn't have wanted her to be hurt, of course… but it would have made it easier…"

"Easier?"

"Easier for me to hate him."

"And why would you want to hate him?"

"Because…" (sobbing) "Because he's so damn perfect, he's loving and strong and kind and devoted and honest, and my God, if you saw him, he's just so beautiful into the bargain…how can anyone else who loves her compete?"

"Do you see love as a competition?"

"I think it can be…"

"I see. That's a very interesting response, Bessie, and we'll come back to that in future sessions…but going back to Stephanie's childhood. If she was happy with her uncle, and with her friends…why did you feel that it was so especially important for _you_ to be present in her life?"

(pause)

"Because - why, because she needed a _mother_."

"Can you talk a little bit more about that?"

"Well, her uncle…he wasn't about to take her to the department store to get her fitted for her first bra, or buy her first pack of sanitary towels, was he?" (pause) "I hope I'm not embarrassing you by talking about this."

"Now, Mrs Meanswell, I _am_ a doctor."

(laughter on the tape)

"And that's the first time you've called me Mrs Meanswell since our first session…I wonder what _that_ means?" (more laughter)

"I think it's best if we keep the focus on you, Bessie…and do you think that was the only time she needed you? I believe she was sixteen when you married your husband. Surely by then the need for, ah - all the explanations - had passed?"

"A mother isn't just someone to explain about periods, though, is she?"

"What else would you say makes you a mother, then, Bessie? Were there other times when you felt Stephanie particularly needed a mother to support her?"

"Well, at her wedding, I suppose…although…"

"Although what?"

(inaudible)

"Forgive me, Bessie, could you repeat that, please?"

"I wasn't very happy about it. And…I think she knew that."

"I see. And how would she know?"

"Because I told her."

"What exactly did you say?"

"I said…she was throwing her life away. And tying herself down to small-town life."

"Is small-town life so terrible, Bessie? After all, it's what you chose."

"But I wanted more for her…"

"And why was that?"

(silence on the tape)

"Bessie?"

(silence)

"Well, let me try offering you a theory which may help. Is it possible that you wanted Stephanie to leave Lazytown and pursue her career because you had, in fact, not been able to do the same? Bessie?"

(inaudible)

"Perhaps we should leave this particular area for now and move onto something else…what are your feelings around your niece's pregnancy?"

(laughter)

"Bessie, can you tell me why you're laughing?"

"I'm sorry, I know it's not really funny…it's just…" (sobbing) "I can't seem to get hold of myself today, I'm sorry…"

"Please take all the time you need."

"Okay. Well, I think it's a huge mistake for her."

"In what way?"

"I think _he_ talked her into it so she wouldn't be able to leave. It will tie her down."

"But hasn't she already made that choice? To be 'tied down', as you put it? She is married, and I believe she has started a rather successful dance school?"

"How did you know - ?"

"I saw an advertisement for it. Bessie, have you asked Stephanie about her feelings regarding the baby?"

"Oh, yes."

"And what did she say?"

"She said she was thrilled and she's never been happier."

"And do you believe that?"

(silence)

"Is it possible that in fact it was _Stephanie_'s choice to have the baby?"

(silence)

"You were talking earlier about Stephanie needing a mother…I wonder if you could tell me some more, Bessie, about what makes a good mother?"

"Someone who loves you whatever happens, I suppose. Someone who you can come to when you need her. Someone who understands you, who looks out for you, who you can rely on whatever happens, someone who you can turn to when you need help. Someone who doesn't judge…"

"I see. So, against those criteria, Bessie, how successful would you say you have been at being a mother to Stephanie?"

(silence of fifty-two seconds on the tape)


	8. Chapter 8 Pretty in Pink

**Chapter Eight - Pretty in Pink**

Stephanie sat on the edge of the hospital bed, watching her just-fed daughter sleeping the sleep of the sated, utterly contented newborn in the little cot next to her. Emma lay flat on her back, her head turned to one side, her arms up in an Aztec-warrior pose, her hands clenched into tight little fists. She had been born less than twenty-four hours, and Stephanie loved her so much it almost hurt to breathe.

She was lonely in the hospital; if Emma hadn't been in the room with her, she would have been climbing the walls. She missed her husband, she missed her home, and she desperately wanted to leave._ (Not a chance_, Doctor Galen had told her sternly, _you need to stay here for at least two or three days while we make sure that bleeding's under control and you don't need any more transfusions.)_

"Stephanie?" His voice was soft, to avoid waking Emma. She turned around to find him standing by the open window.

"Oh! Oh, it's so good to see you…I thought they wouldn't let anyone into the ward after visiting hours…"

(The house and the airship had been equally lonely and empty without her. Although he had lived on his own for ten years, he could not get used to the way the rooms echoed without her in them, or the loneliness of the bed.)

"I missed you both," he said simply.

"So you _broke in_?

"He smiled, embarrassed. "This is not my finest hour, I must admit, but I promise I didn't actually break any windows…and how is our sleeping beauty?" he reached into the cot and stroked his daughter's cheek as she slept. She sighed deeply and turned her head to face the other way.

"She's wonderful."

"And how are you?" He held her gently, hardly daring to touch her because she looked so fragile.

(A night and a day ago he had stood with her, rubbing her back and stroking her hair, trying to behave calmly while inside he was terrified, and what seemed like a million different doctors and nurses swarmed around the bed. It had gone on for more than twenty hours, and he had absolutely no idea where she had found the strength. Bessie had been there too, wringing her hands and crying quietly into a handkerchief, and, when Stephanie was sobbing in pain and exhaustion and the doctor couldn't find the baby's heartbeat and suddenly there seemed to be blood everywhere, soaking the sheets, and he had been convinced she was going to die in his arms and there was nothing he could do to save her, Bessie had looked him straight in the eye and hissed, "I blame you for every little bit of this."

That had been one of the worst moments of his life, because he had blamed himself, too.

And then Stephanie had taken a deep breath and yelled at her to _get out right now before I get off this bed and throw you out myself, _and one of the nurses had hustled Bessie out of the room with a grim look of triumph on her face. Then Stephanie had bitten his arm hard enough to make it bleed and then screamed like an animal, a deep and primal sound he had never before heard or imagined, and then someone else was screaming too, a shrill and piercing protest at the shock of being out in the cold world, and the doctor was congratulating them both.)

"Oh…I just want to go home," she sighed. "It's so good to see you, I can't tell you…"

(She knew, deep in her bones, that she could never have done it without him. For hour after grinding, agonising hour he had stood still and rock-solid right there with her, holding her, encouraging her, pressing firmly in just the right spot on her lower back when the pain hit her like a sledgehammer, not distracting her with words. As the hours went by, she had screamed and cursed, using words she hadn't even known she knew, and out of the corner of her eye she had seen her Aunt Bessie look at her in total shock, but he had simply pressed his lips against her ear and whispered a string of incomprehensible syllables and then said, "That's how you say it in _my_ language," and for a few joyful moments they were laughing together and she knew it was going to be all right.

And then the moment passed and the pain had ratcheted up to a new and simply terrifying level and she had no breath left to speak and everyone was swarming around her and telling her that she needed to try harder, quickly, because the baby was in distress and needed to be born _right now. _She had heard her Aunt Bessie say something to Sportacus to the effect that it was all his fault, and she had realised she couldn't stand to have her in this room one minute longer and had screeched like a banshee until a nurse escorted her out of the room. Then she knew that she had to concentrate, to focus, to get her baby out into the world _right this second_, and she clenched her teeth in effort and then screamed out loud in triumph; and then she heard her daughter cry. She had watched his face as he held his daughter for the first time, and, for the first time in all the years she had known him, his English had deserted him. Without even realising it, he had spoken in his own tongue instead of hers, as he looked at the tiny, pink-haired, blue-eyed sprite lying in his arms, screaming furiously and waving her starfish hands.)

"I'm really sorry I bit you," she said remorsefully, looking again at the perfect row of teeth marks on his right arm.

He laughed. "You went through all of that to bring our baby into the world and you're _apologising_? To me?"

"Still…it wasn't really fair."

"You were splendid," he told her warmly, kissing the top of her head. "I have never been so proud in my life."

"Don't tease me," she begged.He looked at her.

"I am not teasing. I have never been more serious. I have…absolutely no idea how you did that…it was just…unbelievable…"

"I couldn't have done it on my own," she confessed. "If you hadn't been there…if it had just been Auntie Bessie…"

"She does her best," he said gently.

"I know…I'm just glad that - "

"Shhh."

_I think I might be starting to hate her_, she thought to herself, but didn't say it out loud. Instead she curled up against his broad chest and fell fast asleep. A few minutes later he was asleep too, and Emma lay contentedly in her cot and sighed and snuffled to herself. Ten minutes later the duty nurse on the night shift glanced into Stephanie's room and raised her eyebrows, but she knew who Sportacus was, and kindly decided that the wisest course of action was to simply turn a blind eye.

--

Trixie was sitting in the common-room chatting idly to her dorm mates when the blue paper aeroplane landed on her lap.

"How does he _do_ that?" she laughed, opening it up.

"How does who do what?" asked Brandy, looking curiously over Trixie's shoulder. "Where did _that_ come from?"

"Oh, someone I know from home…he always sends these letters, I never realised it worked this far out from Lazytown…oh, my _God_! Oh, that's just - that's completely - " She pushed her chair back and got to her feet, her face flushed with emotion. "My best friends - my friends from back home - they had their baby." Her hands were shaking. "I just can't believe it - it wasn't supposed to be until Christmas - this is such amazing news - " she took out her mobile phone and dialled.

"Stingy? Did you get one too?…I know, it must have come early…are you going home to see them? Is Pixel coming too? Can I scrounge a lift?"

--

The next afternoon, they all three burst eagerly in through the door of the ward, juggling flowers and boxes of baby clothes, only to be stopped in their tracks by a severe-looking nurse.

"Only _one_ visitor at a time," she said sternly. "She had a very bad time…she needs to rest. The other two can wait here, where I can keep an eye on you."

"Ladies first," said Stingy, smiling. "Go on, Trix, I can wait another ten minutes… she's your best friend, I don't mind. Pixel, will you _put that away_, you _can't_ play _Resident Evil_ in a hospital…God, you're an embarrassment sometimes…"

Stephanie was sitting on her bed, leaning against the wall and tenderly holding a tiny baby dressed in a white sleepsuit. She looked frail and exhausted, but her face lit up with joy when Trixie came in.

"Trixie! I didn't know you knew…"

"The aeroplane arrived this morning," said Trixie, laughing and kissing her. "Honestly, Pinkie, can't you buy him a mobile phone for Christmas or something? Oh, my God, let me see…"

"This is Emma," said Stephanie softly, placing the baby in Trixie's arms. Trixie had never heard that particular inflection of pride and possessiveness in Stephanie's voice before, and realised that for almost the first time in their relationship, she felt like the younger, less experienced one.

The baby had pink fuzzy hair sticking up in a shock from her scalp and delicately pointed ears. When she opened her eyes, they were as blue as the summer sea. In the privacy of her own head, Trixie thought Emma looked exactly like a real-life version of a plastic Troll doll, but wisely decided to save this insight for when she could tell Stingy, and enjoy seeing him try not to laugh. _Still_, she thought, _both her parents are so good-looking, maybe she'll look a bit more normal when she's older…_then Emma yawned and flexed her tiny pink hands, and Trixie felt her heart turn over in her chest.

"Oh," she said, rather incoherently. "Oh, Stephanie…oh, she's just…oh, my God, I just can't quite believe it, you're so clever, she's just amazing…" she laughed a little. "She looks - exactly like a cross between you and him - " Emma began to cry, a piercing mew that seemed entirely too loud to come from such a small person.

"She's hungry," said Stephanie calmly, taking the baby back from Trixie and hitching up her shirt.

"How can you tell?" asked Trixie, mesmerised.

Stephanie shrugged. "Because that's her hungry cry."

"I thought she was only born two days ago?"

"She's a starving little piglet," laughed Stephanie. "I've heard that sound a _lot_."

"And impatient, too…a month early. What was it like? Were you scared?"

"She was wonderful," said a familiar voice from the doorway.

"Sportacus!" Trixie hugged him, a little shyly. "Congratulations…she's just - beautiful. So, come on Pinkie, tell me all about it so I'll be scared to death and put off having one of my own for at least a decade. How _was_ it? Giving birth, I mean?"

Stephanie grimaced. "Hideous. I was scared to death the whole time, the nurses must have thought I was a complete wimp - "

"That is not true," insisted Sportacus. "You were amazing. You went through hours and hours of it, and insisted you weren't scared even though I could feel you shaking, and you swore at everyone, a _lot_, words I didn't think you even knew, and you yelled at your Aunt Bessie until the nurses took her out of the room, and when she was gone they all cheered. Then our daughter was born and you instantly forgot about it all, and said you would do it all again tomorrow if she was the end result. I was very proud."

"Your Aunt Bessie was there?""

She insisted," laughed Stephanie, "Until I made her leave, apparently."

"What did she do to get thrown out?"

"Oh…I was really tired and it really, _really _hurt, and I just wanted it all to be over, and she said…" Stephanie stopped suddenly, and ducked her head down so that she could hide behind curtains of hair. "Oh, she was just getting on my nerves. I wanted her out, she was being no help at all."

Trixie looked at her friend severely, knowing she was lying, but then Dr Galen breezed into the room.

"Okay, everyone out, please, so I can do all those horrible post-birth checks you'd all rather not think about," he said cheerfully. He peered at Emma, latched onto her mother like a Moray eel, and smiled. "Well done, Stephanie, you're a very clever girl; _she's _obviously doing fine. I'll let you both know when we're done in here so you can get back to admiring her."

Trixie looked searchingly at Sportacus as they stood in the corridor.

"So I take it Bessie is exactly as pleased as she ever was about it?" she asked. He smiled, but she could see the pain in his face.

"She was worried about Stephanie," he said simply.

"Yeah, well, that doesn't get her off the hook for behaving like a complete - "

"Trixie," said Sportacus warningly.

"I'm sorry, but it needs saying - "

"What good does it do to be angry with her?" he asked softly.

"It might make her realise…" Trixie sighed in frustration.

"Right, I'm done," said Doctor Galen behind them. "She's doing fine, they both are. Young lady, you can go back in and get back to counting the fingers and the toes. And if I could just have a word with you - ?" He took Sportacus by the arm and led him around the corner.

Trixie hesitated, then decided that she wanted to know whether her friend was all right much more than she wanted to be a good person, and listened in.

"I'm an interfering old man and I like to poke my nose in where it doesn't belong," the doctor said. "So I'm going to tell you something, because I can't tell that very mad woman who was in the delivery room until your wife very sensibly threw her out…Stephanie has been through a very hard time, not just the birth but the whole pregnancy, and she will definitely benefit from a minimum of family stress. Do with that what you will. If it was me, I would take that as permission to cut _her_ out of your lives for a while, but something tells me that's not your style. And…think carefully before you do this again, okay? I'm certainly not telling you _never again_. But…just give it some thought. Make sure she knows it's unlikely to be any easier next time."

Trixie scuttled down the corridor and dived back into Stephanie's room just in time.

--

Afterwards, she sat outside on the wall and waited for Stingy, looking at the Polaroid shots of Stephanie with baby Emma.

"She looks exactly like a cross between Stephanie and Sportacus, doesn't she?" said Stingy, peering over her shoulder.

"Amazingly, yes. I suppose that proves that Mendel was right and it's not all down to the stork dropping them down the chimney. Actually, do you know what I think she looks like?"

"I have absolutely no idea," said Stingy disapprovingly, trying not to laugh.

"Yes, you do, because you think so too. I can tell by the look on your face…I think I'm going to buy them one as a Christening present."

"No you're not."

"How are you going to stop me?"

"They're not going to have her christened, you fool. Remember why they couldn't get married in a church?"

"Spoilsport."

"You think I engineered a major religious schism between us and them, just so that I could thwart your plan to buy a fuzzy-haired plastic doll as a present?"

"Okay, that's elaborate even for you. I take it back. I'll buy it for her first birthday present instead."

"You just don't have a maternal bone in your body, do you?" said Stingy, sighing.

"Maybe there's one in there somewhere, but I haven't found it yet. Although I must admit, when I held Emma…it did make me think a bit."

"Do you think you'll have children one day?" Stingy tried to keep his voice casual.

"Possibly. One day. But not for a long time."

"Stephanie didn't want to wait."

"That's different. She's in love with the man of her dreams. If I felt that way about someone, I'd probably want to settle down with a baby too. But let's face it, we're not all that lucky…Pixel!" she waved across the car-park.

"So what did you make of baby Emma?" Stingy asked Pixel.

"Very nice," said Pixel vaguely. "Isn't it weird the way she looks just like a cross between the two of them?"

"You are actually aware of where babies come from, aren't you?" Stingy asked him sarcastically.

"Hypocrite," Trixie hissed down his ear.

Laughing, they ran across the car-park.

--

Bessie saw them going, and envied them. She had been shopping and had bought a sweet pink polka-dot dress for her new - grand-niece, she supposed, although she couldn't yet think of the baby as anything actually to do with her.

_Perhaps if I'd been there when she was actually born, I might feel closer to her,_ she thought bitterly. She knew that Stephanie had been out of her mind with pain and exhaustion when she had insisted that Bessie leave the delivery room, but nonetheless, it hurt that she had chosen someone else over her to be there when she needed help so much.

Stephanie was feeding the baby when she arrived, and she looked up with a tired smile as Bessie came in.

"Come and sit down," she said. Bessie sat awkwardly on the edge of the chair and watched, initially embarrassed and then gradually mesmerised, as the baby fed contentedly and finally fell deeply asleep.

"I bought you this," began Bessie, holding out the parcel, but Stephanie put it firmly to one side.

"Here," she said simply, placing Emma straight into Bessie's arms. Bessie looked down in amazement at the tiny, sleeping scrap lying in her arms.

"Oh," she said, and then was silent for a long time, studying the baby's tiny, perfect face. With the tip of one finger, she stroked the downy pink fuzz on the top of her head.

_(Try and get your aunt Bessie to hold the baby_, he had told her before he left.

_Why?_ she had asked him. _I'm completely furious with her._

_Because she is part of Emma's family_, he replied gravely, and kissed her.

Watching her aunt studying the baby in total absorption, she thought ruefully that, as usual, he seemed to know what he was talking about.)

--

Bessie was about to get back into her car when she suddenly felt someone put a hand on her shoulder.

"Good afternoon, Bessie girl," he whispered in her ear, and she thought her heart was going to stop with the shock.

"What do you want, Robbie?" she asked him, trying to get her breath back.

"Just to say _hello_, and _congratulations_," he drawled, his grey eyes disturbingly close to her own. "And to ask how you're getting on…since you haven't bothered to reply to any of my letters, I thought I'd come in person…"

"Of course I haven't answered your letters," she said, trying to gather herself for the fight. "I wouldn't dignify such trash with an answer."

"It was that close to the bone, was it?" said Robbie, smiling unpleasantly. "I thought so…but then I always did know you better than anyone else. I know everything that's going on in your life, Bessie, about all the hatred you've got festering away inside of you, all the _jealousy _and the thwarted dreams…I know you hate that little defenceless scrap of a baby up in the hospital, for instance - "

"I do _not_ hate Emma, that's just not true - "

"Oh, but you _do_! You might be fond of her _as well_, of course, because she's a baby and you're a woman and you just can't help yourselves, but when the glow wears off and you have time to realise what she represents…"

"I'm not going to listen to you, you disgusting man," said Bessie coldly. Robbie laughed heartily.

"Oh, you're so right! Disgusting and bad and immoral, and without any redeeming features whatsoever. If you knew, little Lizzie, if you knew even one tenth of the bad things I've done recently…but you can probably guess, can't you?"

She blushed deeply.

"Don't call me Lizzie."

"Why? Is Elizabeth Taylor not your idol any more? Or do you just not want us to be friends?"

"We haven't been friends for more than twenty years, Robbie."

"Oh, I know that…believe me, Bessie, I wish you nothing but ill. I'm going to destroy you, you know. Or rather, I'm going to show you to yourself, and when you see your image, how ugly and unlovable you've become, you're going to hate yourself so much that you're going to do it for me."

She looked at him scornfully.

"As if you have any right to tell anyone how they should behave. Why, you've spent all of your life being just as spiteful and nasty as anyone could be - "

"Ah, yes, but there is a difference, my dear. I've come to terms with my inner badness, so to speak, and really grown to rather enjoy it. It's very liberating, you know, to let go of everyone's expectations of you. _To thine own self be true_, Bessie, and inner happiness will be yours. In your case, that's unlikely to happen, because you like to live with the comforting delusion that you're a _good person_, but still, I intend to make sure you see yourself clearly at least once in your life…"

In spite of herself, she could feel tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked him, blinking helplessly to try and hide them.

"There's no point in batting those eyelashes at_ me_. Even in your day, you never were my type, and these days you're long past your prime…why am I doing it?" He took her face between his hands. "Because," he hissed, "_it's time someone did._ The account's falling due at last, Bessie, and the interest has been piling up for years."

He kissed her lingeringly on the lips, while she shuddered with disgust, and then put an envelope into her hands, stroking her fingers as he folded them around it. Then he was gone.

She opened the envelope, and was surprised to find a picture of Stephanie's wedding. Stephanie was dancing with Sportacus, and they were looking each other with such passion that she was amazed the camera lens hadn't melted with it. Then she saw that she herself was standing in the background, her face still and stony.

_I look more like I'm at a funeral than a wedding,_ she thought despairingly, and turned the photograph over.

_See anyone you recognise?_ said the note in Robbie's large, elaborate handwriting. Beneath it was an address: _The Lancer Bar, Forty-second Street, Metropolis. I'll be there from 8pm this evening if you feel like talking over old times. Later - R x_

She leaned against her car door and sobbed into her hands.

--

"Well, then, Barbie, let's have a look at the new arrival and get this whole ghastly ritual over with," he said acidly, slouching in through the door with his hands in his pockets. She was speechless for a moment.

"_Robbie_?" she managed at last, staring.

"I'm delighted to see that maternity hasn't blunted your powers of observation." He glanced into the cot, and recoiled. "Good God…well, there's no doubt who the father is, at any rate. Still, on the plus side, at least she looks healthy enough." He squinted suspiciously at Stephanie. "Wasn't she supposed to be arriving some time next month? Presumably you _can_ actually count to forty, can't you, Barbie?"

"She came early," said Stephanie shortly.

"I see…well, that figures. I was amazed you managed to hold onto it for as long as you did, to be perfectly honest. And you're going to survive the whole unspeakable experience, I presume?"

She looked at him, confused, and then she saw the expression on his face.

"Robbie," she said gently, "are you - are you - you're not _worried _about me, are you? Because I'm fine. Really, I'm absolutely fine."

"Still determined to find the diamond lurking in the coal-heap, aren't you, Barbie?" He sat down in the chair next to the bed. "Well, I admit that Lazytown would probably be a little less entertaining without you in it, tiresome though you can be at times. Although I imagine having that little brat hanging off your skirts will cramp your style a bit. Did they actually _design_ this chair to be so uncomfortable it stops your visitors from staying long? Because it's definitely working."

"Don't let me keep you," she murmured, preoccupied with Emma, who was stirring and grumbling in her cot. He watched her with a curious expression in his eyes as she murmured lovingly to her daughter, pushing her long hair back off her face.

"What?" she asked, turning round.

"You've done some growing up in the last forty-eight hours, haven't you?" he said thoughtfully. "I imagine your Aunt isn't all that pleased about it. Anything that takes you further away from her terrible clutches…"

"Please don't talk about her like that," said Stephanie firmly.

"Why not? You know I'm right."

"Because I love her," said Stephanie simply.

"God knows why, she's a _monster _at the moment…ah, even _you_ can't deny that one, I see." Stephanie sighed and lowered her eyes. "She's only going to get worse before she gets better, you know. Do you want me to kill her for you, Barbie, and make life a thousand times easier for all of us?" His tone was idle, disguising the penetrating look he gave her from under his eyebrows.

"That's not funny," she said seriously, lifting Emma out of the cot. "Don't say that again, even as a joke."

"I'll take that as a no, then, shall I?" he shrugged. "Ah, well. Are you actually about to _breast-feed_ that brat, Barbie? How primitive of you. Forgive me if I don't stay to watch and admire, but I don't think I could stand the shock of that much exposed flesh…I'll see you around, no doubt. Oh yes, I bought you a present." He handed her a thin, flat parcel wrapped in red and black striped paper, and left.

Stephanie unwrapped the present curiously, and laughed a little. Robbie had given her a bottle of whiskey, with a little label tied around the neck:

_Barbie dearest,_

_Remember the days when you weren't just a boring mother with a boring baby?_

_Look me up some time if you ever fancy another drunken evening together._

_R  
__x_


	9. Chapter 9 A Little Less Conversation

**Chapter Nine - A Little Less Conversation**

"Thank you, Mr Wright, that's a very interesting demonstration…well, gentlemen, I think we can all agree that this is a technology we'd be keen to look at further...as long as the deal's right. Mr Hughes, would you like to present your financial proposal?"

Stingy stepped forward and ran his hands through his hair.

"Stop," said Trixie sternly._ "Don't_ play with your hair. It makes you look nervous."

Stingy nodded.

"Okay. I'll just - " he put his hands in his pockets.

"_No_," said Trixie in despair. "That's even worse, you look like you've got something to hide…what you need is a prop, something you can do with your hands without it looking like a nervous twitch. Look, can't you have some sort of pointer or something for your charts?"

"I tried it. It looks ridiculous. They'll see my hands shaking," said Stingy wearily. He sat down on the edge of the couch and buried his face in his hands. "Oh, God, Trixie, _I_ can't do this, I'm going to screw it all up completely…what am I _doing_? I'm twenty years old, the most responsibility I've ever had is balancing the till at the end of a shift in a bar. And now I'm trying to snow a bunch of suits at a major telecoms company, who've all been in business for longer than I've been alive…"

"But you've got the edge over all of them, because you're brilliant," said Trixie firmly.

"Yeah? Well, so what, Trix, because they're all brilliant, too. I did a bit of cyber stalking over the weekend. They all graduated from Ivy League universities. _Magna cum laude_, every single one of them."

"So? Ivy League is the past. _You're_ going to graduate _magna cum laude _from MIT."

"Not at this rate I'm not. I haven't even touched my summer assignment yet, I'm so behind it's almost funny…" He sighed. "Oh, Trix, it's not just important for me, it's important for Pixel as well, he's relying on me to make this happen… you know what he's like, he's just not on the same planet as the rest of us. I don't think he's got the faintest idea how much money this could make us. He's just really pleased he's getting a chance to show it to some people who'll actually know what he's talking about. But this could make him for life. He'll be the Bill Gates of the mobile phone world. And if I don't get the presentation right - if I can't get the figures to add up - if I under-call it or over-call it and they walk away, if they put something in the contract and I miss it and we get screwed - "

He felt Trixie's arm go around his shoulders.

"Stop it," she said softly down his ear. "You're brilliant, you're utterly brilliant, you both are. Whoever's waiting to meet you in that office next month, you'll know more than all the rest of them put together. You and Pixel together are going to blow them away. They're going to offer you a job in their organisation before you've even got to the end of your pitch, I guarantee it."

"You think?"

"Yeah. I hear they're looking for someone to hold the towels in the executive bathroom on the top floor. You'd be perfect." He laughed. "But you're going to turn it down, because you and Pixel promised you'd do six thousand launches and this is only number seven. And because you're better than all of them put together, and you're going to show them that and they're going to be scared shitless and cave in and give you whatever you want because _this is what you do best_."

"You'll be telling me I'm a tiger in a minute."

"Will that help?"

"I don't know. Maybe we should try it."

"You're a tiger."

"Stripy? Endangered? Easily spooked? Makes a good rug to wipe your feet on?"

"Fierce. Powerful. Frightening, but extremely beautiful."

"That's the nicest you've ever been to me in my life," said Stingy, smiling at her.

"I wouldn't get used to it, I'm sure it'll wear off soon. Seriously, though, Mr Millionaire. Making money is what you do best. You'll come out on top, I guarantee it."

"Not if I can't get this pitch right," he sighed, wandering over to the computer and scrolling restlessly back and forth through his slides.

"We need a break," said Trixie, rolling her eyes. "Let's go and visit Stephanie and Emma."

"Okay," said Stingy with alacrity.

"You're entirely too fond of that baby, you know," said Trixie disapprovingly.

He shrugged. "Define _too fond of_."

"It's unnatural for a man of your age to be that keen on a baby. You're at college, you're supposed to be obsessed with beer and casual sex."

"Oh, how dare you, that is such a stereotype! Why wouldn't I be fond of her? She's sweet. She smiles whenever she sees me."

"She smiles whenever she sees _anyone_. That's what babies do."

"Don't destroy my illusions."

"If you're going to fall in love with her, Stingy, you need to know what you're letting yourself in for."

"Maybe that's exactly why I love her."

"Because she's a shameless flirt who'll smile for anybody?"

"Because she gets everyone to smile back at her…because she's sweet and adorable even when she's being completely unreasonable…because she knows she's got me wrapped around her little finger…and because she's completely happy with herself, and can't imagine anyone ever not loving her on sight."

She looked at him suspiciously.

"This is all sounding alarmingly well-thought-through, Stingy. Are you sure we're still talking about Emma here?"

He laughed.

"No, I admit it, we're not. You finally caught me out, Trix. I have a dark secret. I'm secretly in love with you, I have been for years, and there'll never be anyone else until the day I die."

She rolled her eyes.

"Now there's a scary thought." She took his arm companionably. "Let's go."

--

"Stephanie, dear?" Bessie popped her head around the back door.

Stephanie lifted her head from the pillow, and sighed. Emma was deeply asleep on the bed in a centre of a nest of pillows, one hand pressed against her mouth, the other holding tightly onto her mother's hair. Stephanie was curled contentedly around her, floating between waking and sleeping, thinking of nothing, simply savouring the peace. As soon as she heard her Aunt's voice, that anxious tone between worry and displeasure, she felt her entire body go tense and rigid, preparing for battle.

_Relax, _she told herself. _Relax, let go, let it pass._

"It's your great-aunt," she whispered in Emma's ear, gently untangling the long pink strands from her daughter's tiny fist. "Now mummy has to go downstairs and be nice, okay? You stay here and sleep, and send me good thoughts so I can feel like a half-way decent mother and not some hopeless failure who doesn't have the first idea what she's doing. And if you think I'm going to say something awful, you go ahead and scream the place down, so I have to come and get you and we can have five minutes alone together for me to calm down." She padded downstairs in her bare feet to greet her Aunt.

"Hello," she said, smiling. "It's lovely to see you. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you dear…" she looked at Stephanie's bare feet and raised her eyebrows. "Where's Emma?"

"She's asleep upstairs."

"In her cot?"

"No, she's in our bed."

"Really?" A disapproving pause. "Will she ever sleep in her own room, do you think, Stephanie?"

"She _does _sleep in her own room sometimes, Aunt Bessie. She just sometimes likes to be with us too."

"Well, it's really not good for your relationship to have the baby in the bed with you, you know."

"Our relationship is fine, Aunt Bessie." _Stop it. Stop being so prickly and defensive. Just be nice to her, she's trying to help…_

"Well, if you say so…could I just go and have a little peek?"

"No, Aunt Bessie, really, I wouldn't - " but Bessie was already on her way up the stairs.

_Oh, Lord, _thought Stephanie despairingly. She had intended to pick up the trail of clothes they had left last night between the top of the stairs and the bedroom, beginning with his t-shirt and ending with her knickers, but she simply hadn't had the time.

A minute later, Bessie re-appeared, looking flustered.

"I thought maybe it might wake her up if I went to see her," she said, not quite looking Stephanie in the eye. "So…how have you been? What have you been doing?"

"Well, all the classes are full already, which is great news. It's so nice of you to look after Emma, Aunt Bessie, it really helps."

"It's a pleasure to have her...she's my little darling." For a moment the two women smiled at each other across the kitchen table, and Stephanie felt the warmth of her Aunt's approval. "But are you absolutely sure you're not working too hard? You look so tired, dear…you're thinner than you used to be…"

"I've got a seven month old baby, Aunt Bessie, I think being tired kind of goes with the territory." _Did that sound too defensive? _"And it's only six hours a week at the moment…I'm doing fine."

"Well, you need to be careful. Is she sleeping through the night yet?"

"Yes. Well. Usually. Sometimes she gets lonely, but we just tuck her up in between us and she goes straight back to sleep again."

"Wouldn't it be better to let her cry it out? I'm sure she would have slept through much sooner if you'd just been a bit tougher with her when she was smaller…oh, by the way, I was out shopping this morning, and I found _this_. Now, I know what you said, Stephanie, but it's just so adorable, I couldn't resist…" she held out a carrier bag.

Stephanie looked inside, and sighed.

"Don't you like it?"

"Aunt Bessie, _please _don't do this…I don't want to fight with you again…"

"I'm sure I don't want to fight either, Stephanie. It's just a little present. I think she'll look adorable in it. And it's getting sunny, she's going to _need_ a hat to keep her skin safe…"

"This isn't a sun-hat."

"If you don't like it, Stephanie, I can always take it back."

More than anything, Stephanie wanted not to be having this conversation.

"I'm not going to cover her ears up, Aunt Bessie," she said flatly.

Bessie looked at her across the table.

"Well, I can assure you that _wasn't_ why I chose it, Stephanie, but since you bring it up…why would you want to advertise to the world that she's different?"

"Because she _is_ different, and I'm very proud of that! She's our child, and she looks like her father, and I am not embarrassed by that and neither is he, and I will _not_ have her brought up trying to disguise who she is!"

"It's just a hat, Stephanie. _He's_ never made an issue of it."

"That's different."

"I don't see how."

Upstairs, Emma woke up and began to cry.

"I'll get her," said Bessie immediately. "You sit there, Stephanie, and have a rest for a few minutes."

Stephanie closed her eyes, trying hard not to let the tears spill down her cheeks.

"Pinkie? The door was open, can we come in? Oh, honey, what's the _matter_?" Trixie put her arms around Stephanie protectively. "I can hear Emma, do you want me to go and get her?"

"No, it's all right, Aunt Bessie's with her."

"Aha. It's all right, Stingy, it's nothing to worry about. It's just the chief of the Self-Esteem Police, completing her life's work of making the world a more miserable place. Honestly, Pinkie, why don't you just tell her where to get off?"

"I - I just can't."

"Well, if you say so. But I think you're just far too nice. Come on. We're going to go out and have some fun. All four of us, five of us with Pixel. Pack Emma up in her best outfit, because we're going to Metropolis to choose Stingy a fabulous new suit for his meeting with Kahuna Telecom next week. Oh, hello, Mrs Meanswell, how are you? Come here, baby girl, give Stingy one of those disgusting wet kisses of yours." Trixie expertly detached Emma from Bessie's arms and passed her on to Stingy, who held her up in front of him and made a terrible face at her to make her smile, put his face next to hers so she could plant her toothless, wide-open mouth on his cheek and give it a juicy, loving suck, and then laid her over his shoulder so she could look out of the window.

"Well, I can see you're busy…I'll be going, Stephanie," said Bessie, gathering her coat and handbag. She pointedly left the carrier bag containing the sweet little knitted bonnet on the table. Stephanie kissed her dutifully, closed the door behind her and tried to smile at her two friends, who were watching her with concern.

"She's going to drive you insane if you don't put some distance between you, Pinkie," said Trixie. "Is that another hat?"

"Yes."

Stingy shook his head in disbelief.

"Why _do _you put up with her, Stephanie?" he asked abruptly. "You've got all the power here. It's time you started using it. You've got the baby, and whatever she thinks about Sportacus, she's absolutely besotted with Emma. You've got a full, busy life; she's basically got nothing to do since she gave up working for your Uncle. Why do you let her carry on coming round here and upsetting you like this?"

"Because she and my uncle are the only family I've got in the world," said Stephanie simply. "And if it came to it, my uncle wouldn't choose me over her."

It was such a simple and terrible truth that they were both silenced for a long, still moment.

"I'm really sorry," said Stephanie at last, sighing. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Stingy gave her an awkward hug, holding Emma against him with one hand.

"No, you didn't embarrass me, of course you didn't…it's just I'd never really thought about it like that…oh, Stephanie, I'm sorry, I'm _such_ an idiot…"

"Don't be. I'm fine now. Come on. Let's go and get Pixel and buy you both a suit. That sounds like much more fun than sitting around my kitchen discussing my Aunt Bessie's obsession with Emma's ears."

"We'll never get Pixel in a suit," said Stingy warningly. "He only wore one to your wedding because I took away his modem and wouldn't give it back until he put one on."

"Oh, don't worry," said Trixie. "I know _exactly _what Pixel needs to wear. Let's go."

--

"Wow, all of you guys? Well…welcome to Scruffy Bastards, I guess. I'm Paul." The owner of Metropolis's most painfully expensive menswear store held the door open in bemusement as Stingy, Trixie, Pixel, Stephanie and Emma came into the shop, Emma happily cocooned in a sling and holding onto a long strand of Stephanie's hair. "So, what are you in the mood for?"

"I'm Trixie," said Trixie, smiling, "and _he_ needs a suit."

"_He_ has a name," said Stingy coldly.

"But absolutely no clue about clothes."

"Hmmm," said Paul diplomatically. "What's the occasion?"

"A business meeting on Wall Street," began Stingy.

"It's all right, Stingy. I'll handle this." She smiled sweetly at Paul. "Stingy needs to look like he came out of Hell's Kitchen and clawed his way up from absolutely nothing to the very top of the tree by nothing other than guts, brilliance and possibly the odd body in the river. And Pixel here needs to look like a mad electronics genius, one of those Silicon Valley borderline autistic types who are worth squillions of dollars and all they want to spend it on is a copy of the latest_ Grand Theft Auto_ six months before it goes on general release."

"_Are_ you a mad electronics genius?" asked Paul mildly.

"Who? _Me_?" said Pixel vaguely over the top of his BlackBerry. "Wow. I don't think so. I just like to make things for Stingy to sell."

"He's a genius," confirmed Trixie. "They both are, in fact. Stingy is a financial wizard, and Pixel is one of those special ones, who can see how the universe works but can't understand how to start a conversation at a bus stop. But unfortunately he has this…delusion…that he's really a surfer, which is why he's wearing those hideous shorts."

"Geek chic and Gangster cool." Paul looked at Trixie and smiled. "Well, that could work…who are they meeting?"

"Kahuna Telecom," said Trixie, with proprietary pride.

"I think we can manage something," he murmured, and disappeared into the back of the shop.

Stephanie took Emma out of her sling, and sat down in a huge leather chair so Emma could stand on her knee and bounce fiercely up and down. A very good-looking boy of about their age with blonde hair and huge green eyes, who had been watching her curiously, left the racks of jeans we was leafing through and smiled shyly at her and Emma.

"She's cute," he said, admiring Emma as she bounced and screeched joyfully.

"Thank you," said Stephanie, smiling.

"_No_, no no no no no no no," said Paul loudly by the counter. "You are _not_ putting that shirt with that suit, it's just _wrong…_look, Trixie, it's going to be totally bland, you need something with a bit more colour…oh, okay, _now_ I see where you're going. Damn, girl, you're really not bad for an amateur, are you?"

"Well, _she_ certainly knows what she wants," the boy said with a smile.

"My daughter? Or my best friend?"

"I meant the fashion maven over by the counter, but…" he looked at Emma, who was doing her best to throw herself backwards off Stephanie's knee, and shrieking with delight. "I guess that could be either of them. Are you shopping for their wedding or something?"

"Who? Stingy and Trixie? Oh, they're not a couple."

He looked at her quizzically. "And yet she still gets to pick his clothes?"

"Yes, I know, it seems a bit odd…but Stingy and Pixel have this big meeting coming up, and Stingy's like a cat on hot bricks about it, and Trixie's convinced the right suit is the answer to all his problems. And Pixel…well…" They both looked doubtfully at the loose knee-length shorts printed with pink and blue hibiscus, and the t-shirt covered with coffee-stains and adorned with the barely legible slogan, _Jesus loves you…but I'm His favourite_. "Pixel's just not really that interested in clothes."

He hesitated a moment longer, then sat down on the chair beside her.

"Look, I absolutely promise this isn't a pick-up line, I can see you're married, but - I just wondered where you're from? Because I think we've maybe…got a mutual friend."

"Well, I was at the Conservatoire here for a year before I had Emma," she said. "Are you a dancer too? Or is your friend?"

"Lord, no. I was going to study history, but it didn't work out…and the guy I'm thinking of…" He smiled. "I'm pretty sure he doesn't dance. I know him through my - through my work."

"What do you do?" She thought it was an innocent enough question, but to her total surprise he blushed to the roots of his hair.

"Me? Oh. Well, I'm - I'm kind of in the entertainment industry."

"That sounds interesting." She waited to see if he would say anything else, but although the blush subsided, he seemed reluctant to explain any further.

"Anyway," he said hastily. "My friend, I think he has a photo of you at your wedding? I remember noticing your hair - "

It was her turn to blush a little. "Yes, almost everyone I meet remembers my hair. Well, most of Lazytown came to our wedding in the end, I think, so there are a _lot _of people that could be. What's your friend's name?"

Over by the counter, the argument continued to rage.

"It's perfect."

"Trixie_, _it's_ bright purple._"

"And what is your point?"

"So I don't want to look gay, is my point! Oh, God, _sorry_, what a stupid thing to say, I didn't mean - "

"That's all right," said Paul peacefully. "I wouldn't want to look straight, either."

"Oh. So you agree that it's too flamboyant for me?"

"Not at all. Actually I think it will look amazing. It'll pick up the colour of the lining, and you won't be wearing a tie so you need something to stop it looking completely dull -"

"_What_? What do you mean? No tie? Are you both completely insane? Or is this some sort of enormous practical joke?"

"Sorry, but I think I'd better go and intervene before those two kill each other," said Stephanie. "It was nice talking to you."

"It was nice talking to you too," replied the boy thoughtfully, and left the shop.

"Just try it on," said Trixie sternly."She's right," said Paul, shrugging.

"Pixel, back me up," said Stingy, looking cornered. "Purple handkerchief in top pocket is a Bad Thing."

"It's just clothes," said Pixel uninterestedly. "I think you should try it on. Why not?"

"_Et tu_, Pixel," said Stingy crossly, disappearing into the changing-room. Emma wailed disapprovingly, so Pixel gave her a bunch of keys to play with, which she was instantly engrossed by, turning them over and over in her soft hands.

"Right," said Trixie cheerfully. "Your turn now, Pixel my boy." She threw him a pair of faded and heavily distressed jeans, a plain white long-sleeved t-shirt, a black short-sleeved t-shirt with a print of a naked woman holding a skull with a rose between its teeth, and a pair of sneakers. "Off you go." Pixel obediently followed Stingy into the changing rooms.

"And _who_ was that I saw you talking to?" asked Trixie, smiling at Stephanie.

"I don't know…just somebody who liked Emma."

"Somebody who liked Emma, hey? And do you come across a lot of cute boys who like Emma, Pinkie?"

"I couldn't possibly be less interested," said Stephanie, laughing.

"Glad to hear it," said Trixie.

"He's gay," said Paul, twinkling.

"Is he? That's a shame. How do you know?"

"We have a secret signal," said Paul gravely. "If I manage to have sex with them at the end of the night, it's generally considered a clue."

"Yeah, that would be a bit of a give-away…oh. Oh my good God. Stingy, that is just unbelievable."

"I feel like a funeral director," he admitted, standing in the door of the changing-room and running his fingers through his hair distractedly.

"You don't look like one. That purple lining is just perfect…and the shirt…oh, Stingy, I swear, that is just incredible…really. You should only ever wear black from now on. Pinkie, don't you take Emma anywhere near him. That suit has to be dribble-free."

"Are you _sure_ I don't look as if my closest relatives have just died?" asked Stingy, squinting suspiciously in the mirror and smoothing his hair down.

"No, _don't _smooth it down, that looks great, all rumpled and dangerous…well, you maybe look like you might have buried some of them in the East River."

"And that's a _good _thing?"

"Trust me," said Paul firmly. He smiled at Stingy. "I used to work on _Vogue_, I'm gay and I own this shop. That makes me the man with just about the best taste in Metropolis. You look…terrifying. In a completely attractive and very professional way."

Stingy looked at Stephanie pleadingly."Stephanie, be the voice of reason here. Be honest and tell me what you think."

Stephanie looked him up and down. The suit hung in sharp, immaculate lines from his lean frame, making him look five years older and at least a hundred years more streetwise. The heavy white linen shirt, open at the neck, would have been bland without the much-discussed violet handkerchief in the top pocket of the jacket, which picked up the outrageous silk lining of the jacket that was just visible when he moved. The only thing that didn't fit was Stingy's harassed, worried expression.

Stephanie passed Emma over to Trixie, stepped forward, put her hands on either side of his face and gave him a warm, sisterly kiss.

"You'll have them eating out of your hand before you've even switched on the projector," she told him proudly, and saw him relax in relief.

"Why did it take her opinion to convince you?" asked Trixie crossly.

"Because I know Stephanie wouldn't let me make a fool of myself just to avoid admitting she'd got it wrong." Stingy looked at himself in the mirror, and smiled a little. "Trix, you know…"

She smiled back at him."Yeah. I know. It's all right. You're welcome. You can buy me a very expensive frock and then take me out for dinner in New York when you've done the deal."

"Well," said Paul briskly. "That's one of you boys sorted out and ready for action. Now, let's have a look at your friend."


	10. Chapter 10 Extract from Tape 3

**Extract of Tape Recording: Psychotherapy session Number Thirty-five**

_Psychotherapist:_ Dr Richard Kaye  
_Patient:_ Mrs Elizabeth Meanswell

…"Do we _have_ to talk about this?"

"Sex is a very large part of the therapist's work. I can assure you that what we discuss will remain _absolutely _confidential." (pause) "I have found that some patients find it easier to discuss this subject while lying on the couch rather than face-to-face. The absence of the obligation to make eye contact…"

"Oh…yes, that does sound a little - " (sound of chair moving on the floor, rustle of microphone)

"Are you comfortable, Bessie?"

"Yes, actually it is rather comfortable." (laughs)

"Now, let's begin. Can you tell me about your sex life with your husband?"

(pause)

"What do you want to know?"

"Initially, whatever you feel is relevant."

"It's…well, it's average, I suppose. It's fine." (pause) "It's really fine. No problems."

"I see. And how often do you and your husband have sex, Bessie?"

"Oh…about the usual…"

"And what would you say is _usual_?"

"About…two or three…two or three times a…" (sound of sobbing) "You bastard, you _know_ I'm lying, don't you? How dare you ask me about this…"

"Bessie, please try and remember that I am here to help you."

"And how does it help to go through all of this - this - "

"It's clear that we have touched on a very painful area, Bessie. Uncomfortable truths are the very essence of the therapeutic process. I think it's unquestionably relevant that we discuss it further."

"All right…" (sound of patient blowing nose) "The truth is…not very often. I find it hard to - to have sex - when I'm sober."

"So it's fair to say that alcohol has played a significant part in your previous sexual relationships?"

"Yes. When I was drinking I had a lot of partners, I suppose. At least it seemed like a lot to me, I don't know…"

"And was this while you were living in Metropolis?"

"Did I tell you about that?"

"Of course. How else would I know?"(pause)

"I lose track of what I've told you…"

"Bessie, I would like to offer you a theory for your consideration. I feel that you are still struggling to maintain a façade in front of me, a façade which reflects the person you wish you were. For this reason, you…edit what you tell me, and deliberately withhold information which you feel will not support the image of yourself you wish to present. I would suggest that your conduct while in Metropolis is one of the areas which you feel reflects particularly badly on you, and for this reason you are unwilling to explore it. It also makes it difficult for you to keep track of precisely what you have told me." (pause) "Bessie? Does that theory have any resonance for you?"

(silence)

"For this process to have value, it is important that you abandon all pretence, all concealment, and be absolutely honest."

"Yes…yes…I see that…"

"So, going back to my first question; exactly how often do you and your husband have sex?"

"Maybe once a month, I suppose. Less. If I could drink it would be more often."

"And do you enjoy it?"

(almost inaudible) "No."

"Never?"

"Almost never."

"Then why do you do it?"

"Because…I feel I owe him. Because it's what a wife should do. Because sometimes, just sometimes, it's actually good and I like it…"

"And what makes the difference between the good times and the unsatisfactory times?"

"Could we - could we possibly talk about something else for a while? _Please_?"

(sound of pen scratching on paper)

"We will need to return to this, but yes, there are other areas we can explore for a while. Let's talk about your time living in Metropolis."

"Oh, no, no, no…I'm too ashamed…"

"Why?"

"Because I was such a tramp…I slept around, I tried it out with so many different men…"

"And why did you choose to behave in that way?"

"I suppose I was unhappy."

"And what caused that unhappiness?"

"I had…a bad experience."

"Ah."

"You were expecting me to say that, weren't you?"

"Actually, yes. Please tell me some more about it."

"It was…he was my first…I…"

"Was it - non-consensual?"

"Oh _no_, nothing like that."

"So in what way was it a bad experience?"

"At the time it was completely wonderful…but afterwards…he didn't want to know."

"You mean he was - uninterested in pursuing the relationship?"

(pause)

"Yes."

"And why do you think that was?"

"He found someone else."

"After how long?"

(hysterical laughter)

"Bessie?"

"Within about three hours, actually."

"Really? I see…Bessie, I think this is an area we'll need to return to later, but for now I would like to explore further your…relationships while you were drinking. Can you describe for me a typical encounter from your life at that time?"

"Well…I was working on the stage at the time."

"I see…theatre?"

"Musicals. We did all the Broadway hits. I played in _Forty-second Street_, _West Side Story, Lullaby of Broadway,_ _Guys and Dolls, Chicago…_only bit parts, but I thought it might be going somewhere."

"_Chicago_? That's one of my favourites…I wonder if I would have seen you in it?"

"I was one of the dancers in the jailhouse…you probably wouldn't have noticed me."

"Don't under-estimate yourself, Bessie."

"That's very kind of you."

(pause)

"Bessie? Could you tell me some more about your relationships from this period?"

"Oh, of course…well, you know how it is in the world of theatre. Everyone's in and out of the dressing-rooms, you have a lot of quick changes, there's much less modesty, everything's more out in the open. It's just a more - free and easy world, I suppose. So it just seemed much easier to - to - to fall into bed with people. It just didn't seem like as big a deal as it had done back home." (pause) "That sounds terrible, doesn't it?"

"Sex is a natural part of life, Bessie."

"I suppose so…well, there were a lot of pretty girls in the company. We were all about as good as each other , we all wanted the same chances, and of course the men all knew that. So, to get ourselves noticed…we would…" (pause) "do you know what I mean?"

"Perhaps you could explain it to me. Just to be absolutely sure we both understand, to avoid any ambiguity."

"We would sometimes…have sex with the important men in the company. The leading man. The director. The producer."

"When you say 'we', Bessie, are you implying that there would be other girls there with you?"

"Oh, my God, _no_! Absolutely not! How could you _think _I'd do something like that?"

"Life would be very dull if we all wanted the same thing, Bessie."

"Well, I can assure you _I_ never, _ever_ would have - no, I just meant that I wasn't the only one who did it. That's all."

"Is it important to you to feel that you were not the only one who utilised her sexuality in this way?"

(pause)

"I…I suppose so. It doesn't sound so bad if you're not the only one doing it…"

"How important is it for you to feel that your sexual choices are normal?"

(inaudible)

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"I don't like the idea that…there might be something wrong with me."

"And _do_ you feel there's something wrong with you?"

(pause)

"I…I had to be drunk to do it. I used to go out to a bar and have two or three gin and tonics, or four or five or sometimes more…there was this one particular brand of gin, Bombay Sapphire, it came in these beautiful blue glass bottles…then I would go round to their dressing-room or their hotel room or their apartment or wherever they were and invite myself in. They never refused me. Never."

"And are you proud of that?"

"At the time I thought it meant something. Now I know it just meant I was young and pretty and available." (sound of sobbing on the tape) "And now I'm nothing…I'm middle-aged and ugly and…"

"And did you enjoy these liaisons?"

"Yes."

"Bessie, let me be more specific. Did you find them…sexually satisfying?"

"Oh…Oh, my goodness…"

"Or was the main reason you found them enjoyable the opportunity to demonstrate your power over these men?"

(just audible)

"I suppose that was part of it."

"So they were not, in fact, sexually satisfying encounters?…Bessie?"

"No."

"I see. So, with your permission, I'd like to return to the subject of your marriage."

"Do we have to?"

"I think it's important to explore your relationship with your husband a little further…. Bessie, by way of setting the scene, I would like to share with you an insight I have gained during my years as a therapist, which is that in many relationships - especially those which have their, ah, _difficulties_, the balance of power is not wholly equal. That is to say, there is one person who has control of the relationship, and the other person is to some extent at their mercy. Would you say this is the case with yourself and your husband?"

"Yes…actually I would."

"And with whom would you say the balance of power resides?"

"With me."

"You seem very definite about that answer."

"Yes, I suppose I am…I've always known how he felt about me. I think he fell in love with me when I first applied for the job."

"And for how long were you employed by him?"

"About fifteen years, I suppose."

"After which period you married him?"

"Yes."

"When did you first become aware of his feelings towards you?"

"I suppose…I suppose I always knew."

"And how did this knowledge make you feel?"

"I…" (silence of twenty-four seconds on the tape) "Good, I suppose. I enjoyed knowing…knowing that I had…"

"That you had power?"

"That wasn't what I was going to say."

"No? Do you feel the word is inappropriate?"

(silence on the tape)

"Bessie, you mentioned that you and your husband have sex around once a month, is that correct?"

"Yes.""And for you it is…almost never motivated by pleasure?"

(almost inaudible)

"That's right."

"And you said that you consent to this…where are my notes? Ah, yes…_because I feel I owe him…because it's what a good wife should do_. Is that correct?"

"Oh, God…"

"Do you think your husband is aware of your feelings about your physical union with him? Do you think he knows you only have sex with him out of a sense of duty?"

"I don't know…"

"You mentioned your desire to be a good wife."

"Oh, _yes_. I want to be good to Milford, he deserves to be happy."

"Naturally." (sound of pen scratching on paper)

"Do you think I'm a terrible person?"

"It doesn't matter what I think, Bessie…now, I would like you to focus for a few minutes on what you yourself were seeking when you chose to marry your husband. Can you describe for me what qualities you yourself were looking for in a life partner?"

"Well…someone loving and warm, I suppose. Someone who made me feel happy. Someone who loved me, who adored me in fact. Someone who made me feel good about myself."

"I see. Now, Bessie, I would like you to think about this for a minute, and then answer me completely honestly. Against those criteria, how successful would you say you have been in your role as a wife to your husband?"

(silence on the tape)


	11. Chapter 11 Tainted Love

**Chapter Eleven - Tainted Love**

"Bloody hellfire, I need to join a gym…Trixie, wait a minute, I think I'm going to have a heart attack…and that would be such a waste…when I've got such a lot to give the world…hold on, please, just a second…"

"Come on," she said, smiling at him. "Keep up. Twenty more feet to climb and we're at the top."

"And what…in God's name…will getting to the top…get me?"

"Respect. Come on, trust me, the view from up here is fantastic."

Clutching his chest, Stingy staggered up the winding path to the top of the hill and collapsed onto the soft grass.

"Look," she ordered him. "You can see all of Lazytown from up here."

"I can't see anything…for the…spots in front of my eyes…"

"Don't be so pathetic. This is training for the meeting."

"_What_?"

"You need to be in peak physical condition."

"It's a nice idea, Trix, but…I think that's highly unlikely to happen…before two weeks on…on Thursday." Feeling his heart-rate begin to return to normal, Stingy sat up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Besides, I'm pretty sure they'll have a lift…and air-conditioning…what can you see from the other side?"

"Smallville, and a lot of green fields. Look, come round here and see." She took him by the hand and led him through the cluster of bushes and trees on the top of the hill.

"It is a pretty good view," he admitted after a while.

"Worth climbing to the top?"

He looked down at the top of her head. Her hair was blowing loose in the wind, the way he had always liked it best but hardly ever saw it, and her cheeks were delicately flushed with the effort of climbing. He felt his heart rate begin to pick up again, and wondered if he dared to reach out and touch her. It had been months since they had last been alone together; months of casual meetings in Boston and at home, of waiting and wondering and hoping, months of frustration when she gave him absolutely no sign that there had ever been anything between them, or ever would be again.

But she had brought him up here to this romantic and beautiful spot…tentatively he took her hand, and felt his breath come a little faster when she didn't pull away.

--

"Are you sure she's asleep?"

"We'll hear her if she cries," he pointed out as he somersaulted down from the ladder. "Don't worry, she's sound asleep." He held up his arms for her to jump down. "She always falls asleep more quickly in the airship. Maybe we shouldn't have moved down into the town after all."

He chuckled. "I imagine that when she starts walking, we'll remember why we did it. Stephanie," he said, suddenly serious, "I asked you to come down here with me so we could talk. I need you to be honest with me about your Aunt Bessie. What is going on between you both that is hurting you so much?"

She looked down at her hands, feeling tears, always perilously close to the surface these, days gathering at the corners of her eyes.

"It's starting to make you ill, Stephanie, and you keep telling me that there's nothing wrong, but I can see that there is. I can't let this carry on any longer." He took her hands firmly in his. "I mean it, sweetheart, I will do _whatever_ it takes to protect you. If it means she ends up hating me even more than she does already, I can live with that, she's not _my_ aunt after all. That's much better, now you're smiling. But you need to tell me what the problem is."

Stephanie sighed. "She's just so _angry _with me, all the time. She's still upset that I'm teaching, and not touring the world with a famous dance company. And, and…she doesn't like anything about how I look after Emma."

She felt his hands tighten their hold on hers and realised that for one of the few times in his life, he was angry.

"As if she has any right _at all _- " he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I know how much you love her, Stephanie, so I will keep trying to be nice about her. But how _she _can imagine, even for a second, that she knows better than _you_…" His blue eyes looked searchingly into hers. "And is that everything, or is there more?"

"Well - " she stopped.

"Tell me all of it, Stephanie. Please."

"She has a real complex about…about Emma being…"

"About her being _my_ daughter," he said, smiling a little. "And inheriting my magnificently attractive ears."

"Yes," she admitted.

"I thought so…don't look so surprised, Stephanie. I had noticed that she always comes home in a hat when your Aunt has been looking after her. Okay. So I will talk to her and make her understand that it is_ not_ all right for her to drop round while I am not there, and criticise the utterly wonderful way you take care of our utterly wonderful daughter."

"No - please - don't. You can't, you mustn't."

"It's all right, I really don't mind..." He smiled a little. "In fact, you have no idea how much I wouldn't mind the chance to try and make her see...I know she won't _like_ it, but she hasn't liked me since you and I have been together. How can it be any worse?"

"Because…" she hesitated. "Because this is my battle to fight. I'm a grown woman, Sportacus, I _have_ to be able to do this for myself. Please, promise me you won't talk to her about it, let me deal with her."

"Stephanie, darling…don't ask me that."

"Why not? Because then you'll have to stick to it?"

He sighed.

"Yes. Because then I'll have to stick to it. And I don't know if keeping silent is the right thing to do. I should be taking better care of you, I think."

"I know I can trust you if you promise. That's why I'm asking. I don't want you to hate my Aunt Bessie. I'm afraid that…if you talk to her about this…she's going to say something even you can't forgive."

"Well, Stephanie, she hasn't managed to do that so far. How much ruder can she possibly be? Let me help you, let me look after you. _Please_. I'm the town hero, it's what I do…"

"And I'm Emma's mother. Looking after her is what _I_ do. And how can I do that if I can't look after myself?"

She could see he was unhappy, but he had never been able to refuse her anything.

"I promise I won't interfere," he said at last.

"Thank you." She looked at him quizzically. "And what do you think we should do about the hat mountain that's building up in Emma's closet?"

"Well, that is something your Aunt Bessie is just going to have to come to terms with," he said drily. "Maybe you should buy _her_ a hat every week for a while. Perhaps she'll get the point."

--

"What's that?" Trixie asked him suddenly, just as he was about to kiss her.

"What's what?"

"I can hear voices." She led him back through the trees. "Oh…" The airship was hovering just on the other side of the hill.

_Scratch the romantic open-air tryst, _thought Stingy. _Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn__…_

"I suppose we should go and say hi," said Trixie. Just in time, he caught her arm and stopped her.

"No," he whispered in her ear. "Something tells me that's a bad idea."

Sportacus and Stephanie were standing just outside the shelter of the trees, holding hands and kissing each other, slowly and deeply, completely lost in each other. The light of the setting sun was on their faces. Trixie and Stingy watched in fascinated silence for several long moments, completely mesmerised.

--

"What?" he whispered, stroking her hair back from her face.

"It's just funny…we have a house of our own, and the airship, and still we're out here, kissing under the trees like a couple of school kids…"

He raised his eyebrows.

"And is that a bad thing?"

"No, of course not."

"And how about this?"

"Oh, never…that's never a bad thing…" He unfastened the last button on her white shirt, and it fell from her shoulders.

--

Stingy put his mouth against Trixie's ear. " Okay, that's it. We have to leave right now."

"We can't," she whispered back. Her eyelashes tickled his ear and he felt a shiver go down his spine. "They're between us and the path back down."

"Well, we can't stay here."

"We're going to have to. They think they're alone."

Stingy looked at her in disbelief.

"And you think the solution is to stay here and _watch_?"

"You want to interrupt them _now_? While they're both half-naked? Look, if we walk past them and interrupt them they're going to be embarrassed, and we're going to be embarrassed, and whenever we see each other we'll remember it, and it's going to be completely horrible. If we stay here and keep quiet, they'll never need to know we were here."

"_We__'__ll_ know."

"And would this be the first guilty secret we've ever kept? If it bothers you, Stingy boy, just look the other way and put your fingers down your ears…"

--

She sighed with bliss.

"That feels so good…you just can't imagine…"

"Oh, I can, sweetheart, believe me I can…"

--

Stingy told himself fiercely that he didn't want to see any of it, but it was impossible to tear his eyes away. He had realised years ago that there was no point in lusting after Stephanie, sweet and delicately lovely though she was, because there was only one man she would ever be interested in; and he had put all thoughts of her firmly out of his mind. Now, out of the blue, he was looking at her, nearly naked in the evening sunshine, her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted in ecstasy…he hastily turned around, disgusted with himself, and found Trixie was watching him mockingly.

"What's the matter, Stingy?" she whispered against his ear. "Never watched a porno before?"

"This is _not_ a film of two people we've never met and never will meet," he whispered back furiously. "This is _our friends_. This whole thing is completely beyond the pale, I can't believe you think this is funny - "

"Oh, come on. We're stuck here for the duration, so we might as well enjoy it. My God, look at him, he's absolutely _magnificent_, isn't he?"

He stared at her.

"Be honest, Stingy," she whispered. "Have you ever seen anything that beautiful in your entire life?"

_I have to be honest_, he admitted to himself. _I never have._

--

When they were alone together like this, she could finally forget about all of the bitterness between her and her aunt, about the falsely innocent questions ("Are you _ever_ going to stop nursing her, Stephanie?" "Is it _good _for her to be picked up whenever she wants it?" "She's so attached to you, won't it be _difficult _when you need to leave her for longer?"); about the constant feeling that she was, after all, getting everything wrong; about the vicious retort that hovered rebelliously on the tip of her tongue, the retort she knew her husband had been on the verge of putting to her, _What would she know when she__'__s never had a baby of her own_? His love for her, the unquestioning devotion of the man she admired the most in all the world, was what held her together and allowed her to continue to meet her aunt's never-ending disapproval with her head held high. She had never got used to the sweet shock of feeling his hands on her body, of the endlessly repeated discovery that he knew how to touch her in just the right way, caressing and teasing and loving and driving her to the edge of bliss, leaving her helpless and lost in his arms.

"Stephanie, sweetheart," he whispered lovingly against her skin. "Just let me be good to you…no, don't worry about that, believe me, I am _more_ than happy to wait…I love you so much, Stephanie, so very much…"

--

Trixie had told him once that the Japanese believed firmly that it was possible to separate the desires of the body from the wishes and thoughts of the mind. He wondered wildly if this was how, while accidentally watching two of his oldest friends when they thought they were alone, he was simultaneously completely aroused and utterly disgusted by the experience.

He turned away and buried his face in Trixie's hair.

"We shouldn't be watching this," he whispered. "I have never been so ashamed in all my life."

"But it's kind of hot, isn't it?" she whispered back, her eyes dancing. "Can you believe how lovely Stephanie looks? You'd never know she'd had a baby. And _he_ is just - "

"Shut up. This is completely wrong and awful, shut up, please - "

She kissed him deeply, pressing herself against him.

"I'm hearing the words, honey, but I'm getting the distinct impression you're with me on this one…"

Furious, turned on and horrified with himself, Stingy took her hand and dragged her hastily through the trees towards the other side of the hill. He could hear the crunch and crack of twigs and branches beneath his feet, but hoped that Sportacus and Stephanie were lost enough in each other's arms to be oblivious. Safely hidden from view, and now Stingy and Trixie were in each other's arms, tearing off their clothes.

_I didn't want it to be like this,_ he thought despairingly, even as they pressed their hands over each other's mouths to stifle their moans. _I wanted it to be loving and romantic and tender, and instead it's frantic and dirty and…_unwillingly, he remembered the tenderness with which Sportacus had kissed Stephanie, the sweetness that he could see existed between them. _I want to love her like that, but she just won't let me…and I'm really not sure I can do this any more._

"Well, that was an unexpected pleasure," said Trixie with a smile as, much later, when they had heard the airship leave, they climbed slowly down the hill.

"That's not how it should be, Trixie," he said without expression.

He could feel her looking at him, but he refused to make eye contact.

"Didn't you enjoy it?" she asked him at last.

"Oh, you know I did…God forgive me, of course I enjoyed it. But that doesn't make it right."

She looked bewildered.

"What's the matter? Who got hurt? What harm did it do?"

"What _harm_ did it - Trixie, there are things you just don't do. That was one of them."

"Oh, come on, Stingy. Don't be so uptight. It's not like we planned it, is it?" He looked at her hard for a moment. "What? Oh, you can't _possibly _think - "

"No," he sighed at last. "Of course I don't think that."

"Well, thank God for that at least. Look…Stingy…why has _this_, out of all the things we've done together, upset you so much? Compared to some of the times we've had, I'd say that a bit of _al fresco_ sex is pretty tame, wouldn't you?"

"The difference is that this time I know you weren't thinking about me."

"What do you mean?"

"I saw you looking at him."

"And I saw you looking at _her_. It's okay, it doesn't bother me, Stingy. I'm not blind, even I can see how gorgeous she is. I know you've always had a thing for her." He started to protest, but she talked over him. "Really, it's fine. It's human nature to look over the fence occasionally. Don't let it worry you."

"Just because we're all…tempted…doesn't make it all right to give in. Where would we be if we just followed every impulse that crossed our minds?"

"Happier? More fulfilled? Less jealous?"

_And that's what really bothers me,_ he thought despairingly. _I want what we have, whatever it is, to be special. And this time, you couldn't have made it more clear that I was just the man who happened to be available…_

"Look," he said, knowing this was the one argument he didn't dare to put to her, "it was just _wrong_, okay?"

"Nothing is ever _just wrong_. If you can't define it, then it's not a proper defence. _Just because I say so_ is the last bastion of the intellectually bankrupt."

"I thought that was violence. Oh, what am I talking about…? Look, Trixie, I can't argue with you, okay, because you're cleverer than I am and you know you can argue me into a corner and make me look like the uptight, repressed, over-intellectual fool that I probably am. But there's nothing you can say, nothing you can do, that is going to convince me that what we just did was right."

They drove back to Lazytown in silence.

--

"Stephanie! Emma! What a nice surprise!" Bessie opened the door and welcomed them both in. "How are you?"

Stephanie returned her aunt's kiss dutifully. Emma laughed and flapped her hands when Bessie kissed her, and pulled a large handful of hair out of place from her great-aunt's immaculate bee-hive.

"What's this, dear?" Bessie asked, looking curiously at the large paper carrier Stephanie was carrying.

"It's something we need to talk about," said Stephanie, squaring her shoulders. "Aunt Bessie, can we go and sit down?"

They went into the immaculate living-room. Stephanie gave Emma a set of stacking plastic cups to play with, and Emma sat happily on the carpet turning them over and over in her hands.

"Aunt Bessie, we need to have a talk about all these hats," said Stephanie firmly. "This whole thing is getting completely out of hand. You must have spent hundreds of dollars on all these things that I'm never going to dress her in, and it's time we talked about why you have such a problem with…Aunt Bessie, what on earth's the _matter_?" Her aunt was looking out of the window at the mailbox, and her face had turned white.

"Is the flag on the mailbox up?" she asked Stephanie. Stephanie looked.

"Well, actually yes, I think it is…"

"I already collected the mail this morning," Bessie whispered.

Stephanie looked at her aunt in bafflement, and all thoughts of the firm, stern conversation she had planned left her head.

"Aunt Bessie, what's the _matter_? What's upset you so much?" She put her arms around the older woman and held her firmly. "Are you in some sort of trouble?"

"Stephanie," whispered Bessie beseechingly. "Would you do something for me? Would you go out to the mailbox and see what's in there?"

"Yes, of course I will…Aunt Bessie, please tell me what's wrong. If you're in trouble, let me help, I'm sure there's something we can do to sort it out…"

"Just go and look in the mailbox for me. Please."

Stopping to stroke Emma's downy head, Stephanie left the room. She returned a few moments later with a lavender envelope in her hand.

"There was just this. I don't think the mailman can have brought it, there's no stamp. Someone must have left it for you."

"Yes," whispered Bessie, staring fixedly at the envelope. "Someone must have."

"What are you so afraid of?" asked Stephanie as gently as she could. It wasn't quite gentle enough.

"Goodness me, Stephanie, I'm not afraid," said Bessie briskly. "I was just…surprised, that's all. I thought I'd collected all the mail this morning, I wasn't expecting any more. I think it must be from my friend Gina over in Smallville. She often drops by a letter like this when she's passing through. Now, Stephanie, I think you said you wanted to talk about something? What was it, dear?"

Stephanie knew that what her aunt was saying made no sense at all - _why would anyone drive here from Smallville to deliver a letter?_ she thought to herself - but she could tell that pointing this out would get her nowhere. _Maybe if we were still as close as we used to be_, she thought, _but not now, not the way things are…_hastily she scooped up the paper carrier.

"It wasn't anything important," she lied firmly. "We just dropped in to say hello because we happened to be passing. We'll see you again soon, okay?"

"Well, Stephanie, that was a _very_ short visit, but of course if you have to be somewhere else then I'll see you whenever you have the time…" she showed Stephanie to the door, but it was clear her mind was elsewhere; some private hell that Stephanie had never suspected the existence of before.

"What was that all about?" Stephanie asked Emma as she pushed the buggy down the street. Emma laughed and flapped, but didn't answer.

--

That night Emma, who was teething and furious about it, refused to go to sleep. Instead she screamed and screamed, her little face crumpled and scarlet, scornfully declining toys, blankets, cuddles or offers of feeding. In the end, Sportacus took her gently but firmly from Stephanie's arms and held her still and close against his chest, where she sobbed and struggled for a few minutes longer before finally giving in to sleep. Creeping downstairs to check on them both, Stephanie found them lying on the couch, Emma snuggled blissfully against her father's chest with her bottom sticking up in the air, his arms wrapped protectively around her. Both were deeply asleep.

Looking at the two people she loved most in the world, Stephanie felt her heart turn over in her chest. Gently, so as not to disturb them, she reached under Emma's warm middle and unfastened the crystal from his chest. She was determined that nothing and no-one was going to disturb either of them for the rest of the night.

She had hardly expected that anything would happen, but half an hour later, she was astonished to wake up to a familiar bleeping sound, and to feel what she had felt only once before in her life; the tug around her heart, the insistent pull that told her that someone, somewhere, needed help. Dressing hastily, she scribbled a note and ran from the house.

She ran across town, relieved to discover that she was finally fit enough to make a run like this again, and was surprised to find herself in the deserted grounds of the High School. There was someone sitting on the back steps, with his head in his hands…

"_Stingy_?" she said incredulously, recognising him.

"Stephanie?" He stood up hastily. "My God, how did you _know_? I was just thinking - you're the only person in the world I want to see - " he took a shuddering breath. She could see the marks of tears on his face.

She tucked the crystal hastily into her pocket and put her arms around him. He was taller and broader and stronger than her, but she felt as if she was comforting a hurt, lost little boy as he laid his head on her shoulder and sobbed.

"Tell me what the problem is," she said when at last he had stopped crying and they were sitting next to each other on the steps.

"It's so strange, you being here," he began hesitantly. "You probably won't even remember this, but we were sitting here the last time as well…""This is about _Trixie_?"

"Yes…this is about Trixie." He smiled shakily. "It's always been about Trixie, Stephanie. I'm crazy about her. I have been for years. And I know she doesn't feel the same about me, and it's killing me…"

She couldn't speak for a minute.

"Does she know?" she asked him at last.

"I don't know," he said restlessly, scuffing at the ground with his shoe. "Sometimes I think she must. I can't believe I'm that good at hiding how I feel. But then, I can't believe she'd do what she does if she did know…she wouldn't be that cruel."

"What do you mean, _what she does_?"

"We've been - well, I don't suppose you can call it _lovers_, but we've…been sleeping together, on and off, since the summer we were seventeen. Just a casual thing, I suppose; at least it is for her. At your wedding, for example. When she got back from Japan. A few other times, here and there, just a quick exciting few days and then she's off again…you know how she is, Stephanie. You know what she's like. She gets bored so easily."

"I'd noticed," said Stephanie.

"And had you guessed about - us? Did she ever mention it to you?"

"No…never…and that's really not like her. Maybe it means something more to her than just a quick fling, Stingy."

"Or maybe she's just ashamed of the way we've behaved and she doesn't want to shock you," he replied bitterly.

"Do you love her?" she asked gently.

He laughed.

"You asked me that once before, remember? And I said I didn't know…that it didn't sound much like love when I tried to describe it. I still don't know now, Stephanie, that's what makes it so hard. What's love like for you? Tell me."

"What's it _like_? Well, it's like…like…I feel as if I was hardly alive before we were together. As if I'd been waiting my whole life to be with him." She sighed. "I can't explain it, Stingy, Trixie asked me once too, but I just can't. I'm sorry."

"And do you ever get - jealous?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Stephanie, you know what I mean. All the girls in the High School would love to have what you've got, even if it was only on loan. I know _he_ never notices, but _they_ certainly do. Doesn't it ever get to you?"

She thought for a minute about this; about the way the older girls looked at him sideways from under their hair, flirtatious and fresh and pretty.

"Well, sometimes," she admitted. "But I know I don't need to worry. About them, maybe, but not about him."

"Well, that's the difference," said Stingy bitterly. "I know I _do_ need to worry. Or rather, I know there's no point in worrying, because she doesn't believe in - in missing opportunities…of any kind…"

She took his hand and held it firmly in her own.

"Oh, Stephanie, you just can't imagine what it's like," he whispered. "Every time we're together, I hope it's going to be for good. Every time, I know I'm kidding myself. She likes me enough for us to be friends, for us to have some fun together once in a while, but she doesn't want me for good…not the way I want her…"

He had always been like this, Stephanie thought sadly; he set his heart on something and couldn't rest until it was his.

"Being in love should make you a better person, shouldn't it? But I don't know if she makes me better, or worse. There are things we've done together that I never even imagined - but because it was with _her_ it felt right. And then, the other night…" he looked at her and realised there were some things he couldn't say even to Stephanie. "Well, something happened - it doesn't matter what - but I realised that maybe what I like about her is that she brings out the worst in me, not the best…"

Stephanie stroked his back gently and waited for him to continue.

"But then, Stephanie, she's such a fantastic person - such a fantastic _woman_. She's bright and sweet and loving and funny - I've never met anyone who didn't get on with her - she walks into a room and lights it up. So maybe it's just me, maybe I'm not good enough for her. Maybe I just don't deserve to be with her…"

"Why haven't you told her how you feel?" she asked him.

"Because I'm afraid to," he admitted. "I'm afraid that if I do, I'll lose even what I've got now." He laughed. "Pathetic, isn't it? I want to be a multi-millionaire businessman but I'm afraid to take a gamble."

"Stingy," she said gently, "I think you need to tell her how you feel. Even if she turns you down, at least you'll _know_. You can't live your life like this. It's not good for either of you. You have to follow your heart."

"Even if my head is telling me it's the most insane thing I'll ever do in my life?"

"You know me, Stingy," she said, smiling. "I've never listened to my head. For me, it's the heart every time."

"That's why we all love you so much," he answered softly. "Stephanie, how _did_ you know I was here…that I needed to talk to you?"

She took the crystal out of her pocket and showed it to him.

"He'd just got Emma to sleep," she explained. "I didn't want anything to wake them up. A couple of hours earlier and you'd have got the expert, instead of just me. Sorry."

"Maybe it only called you here because it was you wearing it and not him," he replied, smiling crookedly.

--

She had waited all day, telling herself that she would destroy this one unopened; but with Milford peacefully asleep and the house silent, she couldn't resist its deadly pull any longer. She opened the envelope with shaking fingers. There was something in this one, she could hear it rattling as she held the letter with its familiar handwriting.

_Lizzie,_

_Since it seems I still can't tempt you to a drink, I wondered if maybe you might prefer something else to soften the pain of your shallow and loveless existence?_

_Nothing too heavy, my dear, it's all perfectly legal. Just a few Demerol from my own private stash. I would advise against taking more than one at a time, although if the mood should take you, it's quite possible there are enough there to finish you off. I promised your niece I wouldn't kill you, but I take no responsibility for what you do to yourself._

_You think you're a bad person because you drink, don't you, Bessie? Unfortunately, you have that the wrong way round._

_It's been nearly a year that we've been corresponding like this, hasn't it? Well, you'll be thrilled to know this is the last time I'm going to write to you like this, Bessie. Because I'm coming for you at last, my dear, and it's going to be soon._

_R_

_x_

Oh, God, she thought.

She looked at the handful of pills lying in her hand. What she really wanted was a drink, but perhaps this would be better._ At least Milford won't smell this on my breath_, she thought wryly.

Shrugging, she swallowed one. Half an hour later, she was lying on the couch, floating dreamily in a haze of contentment, flying high, feeling no pain.


	12. Chapter 12 Final Extract from Tape

**Extract of Tape Recording: Psychotherapy session Number Forty-Five  
**_Psychotherapist:_ Dr Richard Kaye  
_Patient:_ Mrs Elizabeth Meanswell

"So, what is it that you want to tell me about, Bessie?"

"I haven't been completely honest with, you, Doctor Kaye. There's something else that's been making it hard for me to stay sober…I've been getting _these…_"

(rustling of paper)

"Bessie, this is a lot of letters. There must be over fifty of them."

"Yes…he's been writing to me a lot."

"And who is _he_, Bessie?

""Robbie, Robbie Rotten…he was my friend when we were at High School. Then we had a fight, a long time ago…"

(more rustling of paper, continuing for several minutes; sound of chair moving on the floor)

"Forgive me, Bessie, I'm presuming you don't mind me reading them?"

"No, I don't mind…" (hysterical laughter) "After all, you know so much awful stuff about me already…"

"Hmmm."

"What do you think of them?"

"Well, I've only skimmed through them, but I imagine they were…difficult to read."

"Yes. They were…they are…"

"I notice that the more recent ones are addressed to _Lizzie_, rather than _Bessie_. Is there any significance to his use of that particular abbreviation of your name?"

"Yes. He used to call me Lizzie. He likes to give people nicknames, he always has."

"Can you explain the significance of _Lizzie_ as a nickname?"

"He told me once that I had eyes like Elizabeth Taylor. She was my idol when I was younger. I wanted to be that beautiful."

"I see. And do you think he is intending to evoke that particular association - your beauty when young - when he uses the name in his letters?"

"I think he's probably doing it to upset me."

"And can you explain in what way it upsets you?"

(silence)

"Bessie, believe me, I understand the pain that a seemingly innocuous abbreviation of one's name can generate. If it helps, I went through High School burdened with the name _Dick_."

(laughter on tape)

"Well, I suppose he did it because…because he wanted to remind me that, in spite of everything, in spite of the way we - we parted, he still knows things about me that no-one else does."

"I see. We'll need to return to that soon, I think, but for now…what was the trigger for this…this letter-writing campaign?"

"It all started at Stephanie's wedding. He crept up on me when no-one else was around, and offered me a drink. He knows I'm alcoholic, he knows everything about _everybody_ somehow, although God knows how because he's a sort of semi-recluse. He was tormenting me about the wedding, he knew I wasn't really happy about it. And he told me - he told me that Stephanie was pregnant."

"And you hadn't been aware of that fact before?"

"No. It was the first I'd heard of it…it was just after they finally told me that he sent me the first letter."

"That is the first letter on this pile? You've kept them in order?"

"Yes."

"I see…and he asks you in this first letter; _Were you the last to find out, Bessie? Do you think she dreaded telling you? I would, if it were me. Tell me, Bessie; how did that make you feel? _While I understand how painful a question that is, I think it is pertinent to your recovery that we explore the answer."

"It made me feel terrible…knowing that she hadn't told me first. That, somehow, everyone else had known before I did. That I was so stupid and blind that I didn't notice she was expecting a baby. And I felt terrible that…she probably had dreaded telling me…" (pause) "What kind of mother-figure was I that she didn't want tell me the best news of her life?"

"And do you think he knew you felt all that?"

(pause)

"I suppose he probably did…"

"And so what do you think motivated him to - to probe such a tender place in your soul, Bessie?"

(silence of twenty-seven seconds on the tape)

"I told you. We parted on very bad terms a long time ago."

"I think, Bessie, that perhaps we need to talk in more depth about your past friendship with Robbie."

(pause)

"All right…what do you want to know?"

"Well, why don't you start off by telling me how you became friends?"

"We were both in the Drama Club at High School. I wanted to sing and dance on Broadway, and Robbie - well, he just wanted to be on stage. He was an amazing actor - you wouldn't have thought that anyone who looked so odd could disguise himself so well, but he could fool you into thinking he was anything, anyone…"

"Can you talk some more about his odd looks?"

"He's…well, he's very tall, very thin. Black hair, huge grey eyes. A long face with a big chin. Ugly but also…attractive. Do you know what I mean?"

"The French call that _joli-laid_."

"Yes…that's the word, I suppose."

"So you weren't attracted to him?"

"No…oh, no."

"And was he attracted to you?" (silence) "Bessie?"

"I…I thought he might be. A lot of the boys were, you see…I'm sorry, that sounds very vain, but it was true, although you wouldn't think it to look at me now…then later on I realised that he couldn't possibly have been. But we were best friends, very very close. I felt I could trust him with anything..."

"When you say that he _couldn't possibly have been_ attracted to you, Bessie, can you explain a little more what you mean by that?"

"I mean that…that he was…that he was gay."

"I see."

"You don't sound surprised."

"Is it something that should surprise me?"

"I suppose not."

"Bessie, are you familiar with the term _beard, _as it is used by the gay community?"

"Yes, I think so…it's a woman who they pretend to be in a relationship with, isn't it? Someone to hide behind…"

"That's correct. Is it possible that Robbie chose to be your friend because he wanted you, in fact, to be his beard?"

(pause)

"I…I suppose so. I hadn't really thought about it before. I'd imagined that - that it was because he liked me."

"And do you still think that he liked you?"

"I don't know…maybe, maybe not. He seemed to like me at the time. But - but maybe it _was_ all just a front. Maybe he _was_ just using me."

"So you were not aware of his sexuality during the period of your friendship?"

"No…not until the end."

"I see. Perhaps you can describe for me what happened to end your closeness."

(silence of fifty-eight seconds on the tape)

"Oh, this is hard…well, to explain what happened, I have to explain about someone else…you know that Lazytown has a…a town hero."

"Yes."

"Well…when I was young…when we were young…there was someone else. He called himself Number Nine."

"_Number Nine_?"

"Yes. I know, it sounds ridiculous when you tell someone who's not from Lazytown, but we grew up with him, it was just his name. Anyway…"

(silence of thirty-one seconds on the tape)

"I'm sorry, it's just hard…"

"Please, Bessie, take all the time you need."

"Well, he was very good-looking. And not just good-looking, but sweet and kind and charming and - well, I think you can probably tell that I fell for him."

"I see…and did he reciprocate your feelings?"

(sound of crying on the tape)

"Bessie, this really _is _an important area for us to explore."

"I thought - you see, I was very popular. I was always turning boys down. And when I went out with them, I'd be fighting them off me in the car afterwards. I was still - I hadn't - oh, dear…"

"You were still a virgin at this time, Bessie?"

"Yes. It probably sounds silly but I wanted to save it for the man I loved."

"And you believed that you were in love with Number Nine?"

"I - yes, I really did. So I went to his airship one night, and waited for him to come back. He'd been playing basketball with the ninth-graders. I took him by surprise, I think. I kissed him and told him I'd been waiting for him…"

"And how did he respond?"

"At first I think he was just surprised. But - well, he was just a man underneath it all, wasn't he?"

"Was he?"

"Oh, yes. Not human, not exactly, but definitely a man like all the other men. He took me up to the airship and…"

(pause)

"Bessie?"

"…and we…made love."

"Can you describe how the experience made you feel?"

"It was…it was wonderful."

"And was it sexually satisfying?"

"Oh, my God…"

"Bessie, I think we've established that physical pleasure is something that you have found rather elusive in your relationships thus far. For this reason, I think it is important to understand this dimension to your first - encounter."

(inaudible)

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that answer?"

"I said yes, it was very, very satisfying. It was unbelievably good, if you really must know. I'd never imagined anything could feel so - so wonderful."

"I see."

(pause; sound of pen scratching on paper)

"And then what happened?"

(sobbing)

"I told him that it was my first time…I thought he'd be pleased. I thought, you see, that he must have felt the same as I did."

"And why did you feel that?"

"I thought that - because he'd - pleased me, the very first time, that must mean that we were compatible…that we were in love."

"And what was his response?"

"He looked horrified. Really shocked, as if he'd done something terrible. He kissed me and said, and said…"

(pause)

"Bessie?"

"He said something like, _I'm really flattered you chose me to practice on, Bessie, you're a lovely girl, but I'm not the right man for you. You should be with someone who deserves you far more than I do._ And then - and then he told me to take all the time I needed, and left."

"Can you describe what happened next?"

"I…I was completely shocked. I realised I hadn't understood anything - anything at all. I felt very ashamed, very angry."

"And what did you do?"

"I just sat there - I don't know how long for, it could have been hours. Then I finally realised I was cold, so I got dressed. I climbed back down the ladder and…I wanted to talk to someone, so I went to see Robbie…"

"And what happened when you got there?"

"Doctor Kaye, I'm so tired…do we have to keep going with this?"

"Yes, Bessie, I'm afraid it really is important that we do."

"Okay…well…when I got there…Robbie's parents were out of town. He didn't answer when I knocked, but I could see a light on in his room, so I tried the front door. It was open. I went in and I went to his room and…" (sobbing) "And Robbie and Number Nine were in there, on the bed…"

"And what were they doing, Bessie?"

"What do you _think_ they were doing?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. I'm interested in hearing what you saw."

"They were - they were having sex, Doctor Kaye. That's what they were doing. Robbie had taken him from me. He'd betrayed our friendship."

(pause)

"And what happened after that?"

"I was devastated…I couldn't think straight. I went to the Mayor the next day and told him what I'd seen…of course, he banished Number Nine straight away."

"Why _of course_?"

(laughter)

"Lazytown is an old-fashioned place, Doctor Kaye. The Mayor was a very…a very traditional man. He wasn't going to stand for…that sort of thing. I knew he'd back me up and get rid of him."

"And did you tell him that you had also had a liaison with Number Nine?"

"No…"

"I see. And what was the impact of this on your friendship with Robbie?"

"He told me he would never forgive me. We were never close again."

(pause: sound of pen on paper)

"Bessie, I'd like to thank you for being so honest. I believe this has opened up a number of extremely fertile areas that I'd like us to explore further…I notice that you describe your encounter with Number Nine as _making love_, whereas his encounter with Robbie you describe as _having sex_. Can you offer me any insights as to why that should be?"

(pause)

"May I make a suggestion? Is it because you were uneasy with Robbie's sexuality, so graphically revealed to you as it was? Perhaps you are uncomfortable with the idea of two men falling in love, and expressing that love physically?"

(almost inaudible)

"Perhaps…"

"I was also very interested that you describe the encounter as _Robbie taking him from me_.May I go back to your meeting with Number Nine, Bessie? I think you said that you had surprised him?"

"Yes, that's right."

"So it was in fact an unplanned encounter, initiated by you?"

"Yes."

"Bessie, does it seem likely to you that he would have gone from an unplanned, unexpected sexual encounter with you to another unplanned, unexpected sexual encounter with someone else?"

(silence of seventeen seconds on the tape)

"Bessie, I can see you're reluctant to answer, so let me offer you a theory. Is it possible that in fact, Robbie and Number Nine met by appointment? That they had already established a relationship? That this relationship may have been continuing for some time? That in fact, far from Robbie taking him away from you, what actually happened was that you took him away from Robbie? That actually it was you, not Robbie, who betrayed your friendship?"

"Doctor Kaye, I'm so tired, please can we stop soon…"

"We still have another twenty minutes of our session to go, Bessie. It _is _important that we use them well. I have one more question I need to ask you. Were there any further ramifications for yourself of your encounter with Number Nine?"

(pause)

"What do you mean?"

"Bessie, I am asking you if you ever had reason to wonder if you might have been pregnant."

"How - how did - " (sobbing) "How could you know that? I've never told _anyone_ that."

"So you did in fact become pregnant?"

(pause)

"Bessie?"

(almost inaudible)

"Yes."

"And what happened?"

"I…I had to choose. I had to decide whether to have the baby, or follow my dreams. I didn't - I didn't want to be a freak, an unmarried mother with a baby…so I…" (sobbing)

"So you terminated the pregnancy?"

"Yes."

(silence: sounds of crying on the tape)

"Bessie, is it possible that _this_ is at the root of your ambiguity about your niece's own life-choices? That when you look at Emma, you see the baby you yourself could have had?"

"Oh, my God, I've never talked about this before, never, never…no-one ever knew…I'm so tired, please can we stop this session now, please?"

"Yes, Bessie, I think we can stop now. You've been…extremely frank with me, Bessie, and I'd like to thank you for that. But I think that we have now reached the end of our therapeutic journey."

"_What_?"

"Yes, I think it's really time to stop now. I doubt there are any more skeletons to come tumbling out of the closet. Let's summarise, shall we, Bessie? You're a judgemental and unloving mother figure to your niece, and a terrible wife to your husband. You betrayed and ruthlessly exposed the man you described as your best friend and took away the love of his life, just because your pride had been hurt. You chose your career over the chance of motherhood, although frankly I wouldn't have chosen to have a baby either, can't stand the horrid little things, and then you failed to deliver any meaningful success in your career either. Oh, and you're unpleasantly homophobic, which isn't unusual for someone of our generation, of course, but nonetheless, it's hardly a charming quality. You want to know why you drink? Why, it's because you're a bad person, Lizzie."

(frightened gasp)

"You still don't recognise me? Lizzie, darling, now _really_. I'm flattered that you still remember my acting skills so fondly, but I thought you'd have seen through me long before now. Although, of course, you always _did _love to talk about yourself endlessly…let me try taking off the beard, Lizzie, and the glasses, and the white coat…and let me turn up the lights…I promised I'd show you yourself, and that's exactly what I've done. I told you I was coming for you, didn't I? And now here I am."

"No, _no_, it _can't _be you, it can't…."

"I'm afraid so, Lizzie, my darling girl. It's me…it's always been me."

(tape ends)


	13. Chapter 13 Just A Perfect Day

**Chapter Thirteen - Just A Perfect Day**

They were upgraded to Business Class on the flight; Stingy wondered if this was a good omen. It was the first time he had flown Business, and he was bitterly disappointed that he was far too panic-stricken to enjoy it. He didn't dare accept the glasses of champagne the pretty stewardesses offered them, much as he would have loved some Dutch courage. Instead, he carefully hung his jacket on a padded hanger and hunched ferociously over his laptop, scrolling endlessly backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards through his presentation. _Scanned copy of the patent approvals in all the key markets. Scanned copy of their balance sheet from last year. Estimated manufacturing costs. Strategic launch proposal. Tactical launch plan. Roll-out recommendation. Financial proposal. Back through the roll-out recommendation - is that definitely how you spell "paradigm"? Sure I checked it. Wish I had a dictionary…don't trust the onboard spellchecker… _Next to him, Pixel was drinking Fanta straight out of the can and happily alternating between trying to figure out the PSP cheat code to get Zelda to take her clothes off, and taking his Nintendo to pieces and putting back together again in a way that he vaguely claimed would make it "better in lots of ways, I think".

"We did pack the prototypes, didn't we?" Stingy asked, chewing his nails.

Pixel looked up at him over the top of his console.

"How would I know? You wouldn't let me anywhere near that rucksack. You said I'd only start taking everything apart again to see if I could make it work better."

"Well, you might have checked when I wasn't looking."

"Well, I suppose I might have, if I'd thought of it, but I didn't, so I didn't. It'll be okay. If we did forget them, I can draw them a picture." Stingy snorted. "Stop obsessing, it'll be fine…oh, _yes_!"

"What?""She's unfastening her bodice. Look, Stingy, it's really cool….oh, rubbish, she's wearing a bra underneath. Still…"

"Oh, for God's sake, Pixel, it is _not_ really cool. It's a load of juvenile _crap_, is what it is_._ She looks nothing like a real woman, that's just some sad, lonely geek's silicon fantasy…"

"Yep," said Pixel happily.

"You're just completely shameless, aren't you…? Look, just so we're clear - if you have _that_ on screen when the stewardess walks past, I'm going to be forced to kill you." Stingy scrolled restlessly back through his slides again.

"They're just the same as they were five minutes ago," said Pixel, without looking up from his screen.

Stingy sighed.

"I know."

"So why are you checking them?"

Stingy stared at Pixel.

"You really aren't faking this, are you?" he asked. "You're not even faintly rattled about walking into one of the most profitable boardrooms in the whole of the Western world and trying to sell them something you invented in your bedroom one weekend.""Why would I be nervous?" asked Pixel innocently.

"Do you have any idea of the net worth of the eight men we'll be sitting opposite in a few hours' time? Did you _read_ those Dun and Bradstreets?"

"Hey, if I read everything you got me to hack for you, I'd never have any time to do anything else," protested Pixel. "Look, Stingy, stop _worrying_. I'm not worried."

"I know you're not," said Stingy crossly.

"And do you know why?"

"Because you're an idiot?"

"Because I'm on your team," said Pixel simply. "And I know you're the best. We all think so, Stingy. Even Trixie, and she's the hardest person to please I've ever met. I know you're not going to let me down in there. We'll be fine."

Stingy was unable to speak for a minute. Then, with sudden decision, he powered his laptop down and put it away.

"Come on, then," he said, smiling. "Let's see you get her to take her bra off."

--

They paid their terrifying taxi-driver, who had alternated between a stream-of-consciousness monologue about precisely what was wrong with New York society, and a flood of inventive obscenities directed at his cab-driving comrades. He seemed completely unconcerned that neither Stingy nor Pixel paid the slightest attention to him (Pixel was calmly checking the contents of the rucksack containing eight Voicemaster earpieces and transmitters, and Stingy was simply staring blankly into space).

"You boys going in there?" he asked, looking up at the sleek black glass tower in front of them. "Well, have fun. I hear the air conditioning's sub-zero." Stingy looked at him bleakly, and he visibly recoiled. "Hey, don't get upset with me, okay? I'm only making conversation…" Stingy stared back at him for a moment, then laughed mirthlessly and slammed the door shut.

"Mr Hughes and Mr Wright to see the licensing team," said Stingy to the receptionist, who nodded and showed them to the lifts. They passed through a series of three more receptionists, before finally finding themselves in a huge meeting-room with floor-to-ceiling views over New York.

"The licensing team will be with you in five minutes, Mr Hughes," said the receptionist calmly, and closed the door behind her.

They looked wildly around the room, and then at each other; then Stingy suddenly burst out laughing.

"Tell me I'm a tiger," he ordered, slightly hysterically.

"You're a tiger," said Pixel obediently.

"So I am. You ready, partner?"

"I keep telling you, Stingy, I'm _fine_. I just want to get this over with so I can go and get a hot-dog."

The door opened.

--

"Do you think they're going for it?" Stingy whispered as they stood outside the room while the Masters of the Universe within discussed their pitch.

Pixel suddenly gave a huge grin.

"Do you want to find out?"Stingy looked at him in puzzlement.

"You know that pen I left on the table?"

"Pixel, you _didn't…_"

"I just didn't want to be stuck out here watching you wear out the carpet," said Pixel, handing him the tiny receiver. Stingy hesitated for a microsecond, then shrugged and stuck it in his ear.

"…_fucking unbelievable,_" he heard a voice say. "_This is going to change the face of the industry for ever._"

"_How come we've only just heard of these guys?"_ asked another voice.

"_They've only just turned twenty.""Is that all? Christ."_

"_I've heard of them," _said a third voice.

("That's the technical director," Stingy hissed at Pixel.

"I can't hear what you can hear. You've got the only receiver…ooh, look, I've got a text message from Ziggy. He's going on a date with Marie next week."

"Pixel, will you put that away and _shut up_?")

"_They did a deal with Koduji a while ago. I spoke to their Head Geek. He said they were white-hot. They tried to sign them up to the company but they wouldn't play ball. Then they tried to buy the patent. Nothing doing. So they just took the product in on license. Made a killing apparently. Nothing like they'd have got if they'd just bought the technology off them, but you can't have everything. He said, and I'm quoting here, 'Peter Wright is a bona fide off-the-scale genius, and Shaun Hughes is the smartest, sharpest money-man I've ever sat across the table from and been gently shafted by.'"_

"_Well, I'm with him on that one…he's one scary-looking fucker. Kind of looks like a…well, like a good family man, don't you think?"_

_"With a name like _Hughes_? Get a grip."_

"_Might be an assumed name. They don't like to advertise it these days…"_

(Out in the corridor, Stingy doubled over with silent laughter."What's the matter?" asked Pixel.

"They think I'm Mafia," whispered Stingy.

Pixel looked at him doubtfully.

"You're not, are you, Stingy? I mean, you would tell me, right?"

Stingy grinned.

"Really, Stingy, you would, wouldn't you?"

"Shhh," he replied absently, waving Pixel away.)

"_Yeah, but he's just the Head Geek. What would he know? They get frightened if the girl in Starbucks asks them if they want a doughnut with that."_

"_Fair enough, but you know Justyn Richards from Koduji's Sales department? He tried to pull a fast one over the kit they licensed in from them - they were onto it in a flash. He swore he'd never mess with them again. They have contacts world-wide, apparently - it looks like just two guys in an apartment in Boston but they've obviously got something going on that we can't get visibility of…"_

"_Okay. So we're agreed have to do business with them. Let's talk strategy. Do we try and get them on the books as employees?"_

_"Not much point. They personally own the patent."_

_"Personally? Shit."_

"_Yeah, well, they own the company and they're the only employees."_

_"We could try and buy the company."_

"_Reckon they'd sell?"_

"_Not sure. We could ask."_

("You don't want to sell Six Thousand Ideas to Kahuna, do you?" Stingy hissed at Pixel. Pixel looked horrified. "That's fine. Just checking.")

"_So what happens if it's not for sale?"_

_"I'm not getting into a bidding war, my blood pressure's sky-high as it is."_

_"There is no war. Not yet. I've asked around. We're the first ones to see them. We do the deal today, we're sorted."_

_"Really? You mean we're actually ahead of the game?"_

"_Just for once, we are. They tried to get appointments with everyone, but honestly, you can see why no-one was biting. Two guys from MIT claiming to have the next big thing in mobile comms…"_

"_We could try and…acquire one of the prototypes."_

_"We could, but it would take months to retro-engineer. And in the meantime they'd get someone else to buy it. I guarantee it. Just me asking around about it has set the jungle drums rumbling. We'd lose at least nine months, maybe a year…and there's no guarantee we'd be able to beat the patent…"_

"_Hmm. So…we can't copy it. We can't steal it. We probably can't buy the company. So we're going to have to license it. And we want to do the deal today because then we'll have locked out the competition. Okay, people, let's ante up…how high are we willing to go?"_

(Stingy clutched his ear in shock. Then a huge grin of disbelief spread across his face.

"What's happening?" asked Pixel.

"Let's just say…I think we're going to be getting onions on top of that hot dog," said Stingy contentedly.)

--

An hour later, they staggered back out of the glass doors. Pixel had the prototypes carefully stashed back in the scruffy rucksack. Stingy had the contract tucked in his inside pocket.

They looked at each other in bafflement.

"Can I see the contract again?" asked Pixel after a while. They wandered along Wall Street until they found a Costa Coffee, and sat down with a couple of lattes.

"Don't drip coffee on it," warned Stingy. They unfolded the papers and looked at them in total silence for ten minutes.

"That's a lot of money, isn't it?" said Pixel at last.

"Oh, yes. That's…that's definitely a lot. That's actually the proper term for it, you know. _A lot_. More than a bit, not quite as much as a _hell of a_ lot…but then, this is just the initial non-refundable advance on future royalties…and six months from now, when we get the second instalment…" He looked at Pixel. "What are you going to do with your half?"

"I'm going to buy a hot dog," said Pixel. "I've never been to New York before. I want to see if they really do taste better."

"And then?"

He shrugged.

"Then I'm going to put it into whatever investment you tell me to. What? What else do I need? I'll be able to pay my tuition without worrying about it. Maybe I'll get a new surfboard when we get back to Boston." He paused. "What are you going to do with your half, Stingy?"

Stingy laughed.

"You know, I don't actually know either," he admitted. "I just never thought - I never quite imagined - I just can't believe we've really pulled it off - " he stopped suddenly.

"Are you all right?" Pixel asked curiously.

"I'm fine. I've just thought of what I'm going to do."

--

"So, do you think it's possible to _be_ evil if you're not aware that what you're _doing_ is evil?"

Trixie thought.

"To start with, Andrew, I'd challenge whether it's possible to define someone as inherently _good_ or _evil_," she said at last. "Evil is defined by actions. We all have free will which we can apply to change our actions. Therefore we continuously choose, every moment, to be good or evil. It's not an absolute state."

"Interesting. But then, how about people who _think_ evil thoughts? Even if they never act on them?"

"Hmmm…well, thinking is itself a physical action. So I'd classify that under _evil actions_."

"So ultimately anyone can be redeemed if they just choose to be good in the end? No matter how bad they've been up until then?"

Trixie smiled up at him. "Define _redemption_."

"Okay, I'll have a go..."

Out of nowhere, Stingy strode across the grass, took her by the hand, pulled her to her feet and led her away.

"What? What are you _doing_?" she squeaked, completely taken aback. "I was in the middle of something important, you - you uncouth lunatic. You haven't spoken to me in two weeks, you wouldn't even reply to my emails, not since…since that night…and now you just appear out of nowhere and drag me off like the Goths storming the gates of Rome...what the bloody hell's going on, Stingy?"

He stopped and took her by the shoulders. She looked him up and down. He was still wearing what they had christened his Gay Undertaker suit, and his hair was untidy and rumpled. There was an expression in his eyes she had never seen before.

"I just got off the flight back from New York. We did the deal with Kahuna," he said.

"Oh my God, Stingy, that's _fantastic_. _No!_ No, I'm still completely furious with you. How _dare _you ignore me and dodge my calls like that? That was really mean, Stingy. I wanted to wish you luck and make sure you were okay, and you just _hid_ from me. I was really worried. And I'm not going _anywhere _with you until you apologise."

"Rules," he said, putting one finger over her mouth. "Rule number one: you're coming with me to help me celebrate. Rule number two: we're going to do it in New York. And Rule number three: we're doing it in style."

She shook her head.

"You must be joking."

"I think we established many years ago that I have no sense of humour," said Stingy without a trace of a smile. "Are you in or are you out? Because I can always go and pick someone completely at random and take _them_ with me instead."

She looked at him for a moment, then shrugged crossly.

"Okay. But this doesn't mean you're forgiven, you understand?"

"Fair enough," said Stingy, smiling. "You let me know when I'm off the hook."

They ran across the campus to Stingy's car, and drove to the airport.

--

"We'll never make the flight," Trixie warned.

"Yes, we will."

"How do you know? Look, they're calling it already, we haven't even checked in…"

"That's for the economy seats."

"We're not flying economy?" She laughed. "Okay, so _now _I'm starting to forgive you."

"Hello. Sorry, we're a bit late for the flight…"

"No problem, Mr Hughes, first-class passengers still have twenty minutes to board…do you have any luggage to check in?"

"Not a thing."

"Travelling light…very wise." He looked the pair of them up and down curiously. "Is it a special occasion?"

"Don't ask me," laughed Trixie. "This is _his_ show...I'm just along for the ride."

On board the plane, Trixie looked at him in amazement.

"This is…excessive."

"You don't like it?"

"I didn't say I didn't like it…I said it was…excessive. As in, _more than was needed to impress me._"

"That's very honest of you," he said, smiling.

"Of course I am…I'm the philosophy student, it's my job to be honest."

"Ah, but I'm the economics student, so it's my job…" - he took her hand and, when she allowed him to keep it, gently kissed it - "to make the money…to pay for the beautiful philosophy student to think beautiful thoughts all day…besides, I'm not trying to impress you."

"No?"

"I'm trying to _entertain_ you. And to buy your forgiveness."

"Mmm." She thought for a minute, then laughed. "Okay, luckily for you it looks like my forgiveness is for sale. As for entertaining me, I have to admit you're doing splendidly…but seriously. How much is this costing?"

"I've given up being serious for the next twenty-four hours," he said firmly.

--

Outside JFK, a driver was waiting with the words _Mr Hughes, Six Thousand Ideas Ltd_ printed on a board. He bowed politely and took them to a black limousine.

"Don't look so horrified," said Stingy, laughing at the look on her face. "Apparently this is the only genuine bargain in New York. They only cost slightly more than a yellow cab from the airport, and the drivers are much more polite. I wish I'd known that this morning, of course, but never mind, at least I've learned now."

"Well, it's nice to see you haven't completely taken leave of your financial senses," said Trixie. "I could get used to this. So what's next, Mister Millionaire?"

"That's Mister _Multi_-Millionaire to you," he said absently, looking out of the window.

"Ha ha ha," she said sarcastically. "That _is_ a joke, right?"

He turned back to face her and smiled peacefully.

"I told you, Trixie, I have absolutely no sense of humour…"

They drove to Fifth Avenue, and Stingy took her to the Valentino store, where he left her at the door in the charge of the manageress. She looked at him speechlessly.

"Really?" she asked him at last.

"Really." He kissed her gently. "I promised to buy you a very expensive frock and take you out for dinner. So that's what I'm going to do."

"I warn you," she said, "I have absolutely no scruples about exploiting this opportunity to the full."

"So I should hope. Have fun."

"Where are you going?"

"The last thing you want while you're trying on clothes is a man hanging around saying unhelpful things like _they all look fine to me _and _I liked the first one_ and _do they have that in black_? I'll pick you up in a couple of hours…I've got some shopping to do."

She spent an intoxicating hour trying on an endless parade of beautiful dresses, before finally settling on an immaculately cut red silk dress which clung to her tiny frame and then frothed extravagantly out at the waist. The manageress, smiling, wrapped up the clothes Trixie had been wearing, scribbled an address on the wrapping, and put the parcel into a taxi. Then she produced brushes and combs and hairpins and a palette of untouched MAC make-up, and helped Trixie transform herself.

"Is this part of the service?" she asked, staring at herself in the mirror.

"Your boyfriend asked me to. You're a lucky girl, he must be absolutely wild about you."

"Oh, he's not my boyfriend," said Trixie, laughing. "He's just someone I know from when we were kids. We've been friends all our lives."

"He brought you here and gave you an unlimited budget and he's not even your boyfriend?"

"He's just done a deal with big telecom company. He promised he'd take me out for dinner in New York if it came off."

"A successful businessman as well…I see. So how long have you known each other?"

"All our lives," said Trixie, admiring herself in the mirror. "You know what? I think I might just wear this dress every day until I die."

"And you've never once noticed the way he looks at you?"

She looked at the older woman.

"What do you mean?"

"Trust me, honey, that boy is _besotted_. You've got him wrapped around your little finger." She winked. "If I were you, I should make the most of it."

--

"Trixie, you look…" he swallowed. "Absolutely sensational."

"Better than at Stephanie's wedding?" she asked mischievously.

"What kind of a question is _that_?" he asked crossly.

"A very mean and impossible one." She had asked it deliberately because she knew it would irritate him; she was alarmed by the look in his eyes. If the manageress of Valentino's was right…no, she couldn't possibly be right. They had been friends and occasional lovers for far too long; she would have noticed before now. "So come on, Stingy, which do you prefer? Asian chic or Republican glamour?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Okay, if you want the honest answer…I'm a man. I can't tell the difference between one red silk dress and another." He laughed when she slapped his arm in outrage. "Serves you right for asking such ridiculous questions. You know how much that dress suits you. Get in the taxi, we're going for dinner."

--

"_En_," said Trixie, looking at the name over the door. "A karmic bond lasting a lifetime. That's very deep of you, Stingy."

"Is that what it means? I thought maybe they just couldn't spell _in_."

"That's the sort of thing Pixel would say."

"Yeah, well, I've spent rather a lot of time with him the last couple of weeks." He held the door open for her. "Okay, you're going to have to be in charge for this part, because I have no idea about Japanese food…"

"Not a problem," said Trixie blissfully.

--

"The _Carlyle_?"

"Why not?"She shook her head.

"You're nuts. Absolutely nuts."

"Possibly. I'm sure it will wear off soon." He opened the door to the suite. She looked in and laughed in amazement.

"Stingy, this room has a _piano_."

"Well, I wanted the view, and unfortunately the piano came as part of the package." He led her over to the window. "Look…we can see right across the park."

"That's beautiful."

"It certainly is," he said gravely. "Trixie…"

She wriggled out of his arms. "I want to see the rest of it," she declared. "Oh my God…come and see the _bathroom…_"

He came into the bathroom and shut the door. They contemplated the sunken marble bath in silence for a while.

"Very…what did you call it?" he asked. "Very _Republican_." They looked at each other.

"This is insane," said Trixie at last. "What are we _doing_ in here, Stingy? We're just a couple of scruffy students from Boston, and we're in this - this completely ridiculous hotel room - "

"Hotel _suite_," corrected Stingy mildly.

"Any minute now they're going to realise, and throw us out. Aren't they?"

"If they do," said Stingy, "we can always hide…in here." He took her by the hand and led her to another door. Behind it was another, identical bathroom. They both began to laugh helplessly.

"Why are you doing this, Stingy?" she asked him at last, wiping tears from her eyes. "Why are you going to all this…all this trouble?"

"Ask me in the morning," he said, looking down at his feet. "But for now…" he took her by the hand and led her to the bed.

"Rules," she whispered.

"No. No rules. Not this time. Or, okay, just one rule, which is that you have to let me be good to you, Trix, and not argue or wriggle away or tell me no." She could feel his hands shaking as he unfastened her frock. "All the times we've been together, we've always done it your way. Just for tonight, will you let me try mine? Please, darling Trixie, please."

So, touched by his generosity and the totally unaccustomed endearment, thrown off balance by the strangeness of the day and the unbelievable surroundings, slightly tipsy from the sake she had drunk with the meal, she melted into his arms and, for the very first time in her life, let someone else take over.

--

She awoke the next morning to bright sunshine streaming in through the windows. Stingy was sitting in a chair by the window, wearing a white bathrobe, not speaking, not moving, just watching her. She stretched and smiled sleepily at him.

"There's coffee in the other room," he said.

"You even organised coffee?" she smiled gratefully. "You're my hero. Just let me hop in the shower and I'll be right out."

He was waiting for her in the living-room when she came out, dressed in an identical fluffy white bathrobe to the one he was wrapped in.

"Do you think they'll mind if we steal them?" she laughed.

"I imagine they'd forgive us." he passed her a cup of coffee. "Trixie, I want to ask you something…did you enjoy it?"

"Which part? Actually, scratch that, because yes, of _course _I did, I enjoyed every little bit of it. That was the most amazing fun I've had in my life, Stingy. Totally unexpected from start to finish. Or…are you asking specifically about the No Rules part of the experience?"

"All of it," he said.

"It was amazing. You're so _nice_, Stingy. I can't believe you did all that for me just because I went with you to Metropolis and helped you choose a suit."

"It wasn't just because of the suit," he said, and the look on his face made her tremble.

"Oh, Stingy, sweetie, no, nonono, don't do this, please…"

"I have to. Trixie…." he took her left hand and put a small blue box into it. "Trixie, I want you to marry me. Please say yes."

They looked at each other across their cups of coffee.

"Just think about it, Trixie," he said. "We're so good together. I've never met another girl who comes remotely close to you. You're amazing, you know I've always thought so. And now…now I can take care of you. We can live wherever you want, here, in Boston, in Europe, even back in Lazytown if that's what you'd prefer. Or we can have a couple of houses, wherever you want to have a _pied-a-terre. _Give me a few years and we could even afford a suite at the Carlyle all the year round. We can have children and not worry about being tied down, we can afford all the help you want, or if you want to quit work, that would be fine too."

"Stingy, please, stop - "

"Trix, darling Trix, I _know_ you don't feel the same about me. I understand that, I always have. But just think about it. We could be the power couple of Lazytown. I can give you whatever you want, I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy. Because there's nothing in this world that I want more than I want you. Please, say yes, please. You don't have to marry me now. Just say you'll be mine and no-one else's."

Almost without realising it she had opened the box in her hand, and found herself staring at a huge diamond solitaire in a Tiffany setting.

"Oh, Stingy…" she put the ring carefully on the table and took his hand between hers.

"You're going to say no, aren't you?" he whispered.

"I'm so sorry."

"Why? What's wrong with me? What can I do to change your mind?"

"Stingy…" he hesitated. "I don't know if I can explain…"

He didn't say a word, just stood still in front of her, waiting.

"Stingy…I don't know who it is that you think you see when you look at me…but I don't think it's who I really am. It's been…just the most amazing fun, coming with you to New York, spending silly amounts of money on a ludicrous dress, staying in a place that's five times the size of your apartment in Boston. But Stingy, that's not all of who I am. That's not who I want to be. I can't be your Trophy Wife, Stingy. It's a fun game to play, from time to time I'm sure it would be amazing. But I can't live that life for real." There were tears on his cheeks, and she wiped his face tenderly with her fingers. "And then, what happened between us two weeks ago…that night on the hill…it was you I was with, but you know who I was thinking about… and I really shocked you, didn't I? There's no point denying it, Stingy, I know I did. Well, maybe I shocked myself too."

"Then we don't have to worry about it," he said. "If we both feel the same, then at least we're on the same wavelength, we've got the same values, even if we don't always live up to them…"

"But, Stingy, that's the point. Even though we both knew it was wrong, _we still did it_, because I was too into it to stop, and you were too into me to turn me down. I need someone who's going to stand up to me, who's going to - to keep a lid on me. To keep me within bounds. And, let's face it, Stingy, that's not something we've ever been good at, is it? Either of us."

"That's because I think you're absolutely perfect just the way you are…"

"But I'm _not_ perfect, Stingy, I'm not. I'm bossy, I'm unreasonable, I sleep around, I drink too much, I leave my knickers on the bedroom floor. If what you want is someone who actually belongs in this kind of setting, then I'm the wrong girl for you."

"I know you're not flawless, Trix…but I didn't say _flawless_. I said _perfect_. That's a different thing. When we're together, it's extraordinary, you know it is…"

"Just tell me one thing, Stingy." She looked into his face. "Can you honestly tell me that you're in love with me? Not that you're crazy about me. Not that you lust after me. Not that you want me to be yours. Just that you're in love with me…the way it should be. The way it is for - well, you know what I mean. Because that's what I want, Stingy. I won't settle for anything less."

He looked at her speechlessly. Every part of his mind was telling him to lie, but something in his heart wouldn't let him do it.

"I just don't know," he whispered at last. "I want to say yes, but I don't know…"

"That's what I thought," she said, softly.

--

Totally uncharacteristically, Pixel was in the kitchen unpacking food from grocery bags when Stingy finally got back to their apartment.

"Hi," he said, just as if Stingy hadn't disappeared without a word of explanation more than thirty-six hours ago. "Want some pizza?"

Stingy looked into the box and shuddered.

"Did you find that in the bottom of a dumpster somewhere?"

"Then would you like a drink?" asked Pixel, taking a bottle of bourbon out of a carrier bag. "It's all right. You don't have to tell me anything about it if you don't want to."

Stingy smiled gratefully and took a mouthful of bourbon straight from the bottle."Although I should tell you that I know all about it, because I looked at your American Express account online," continued Pixel. "You went missing," he went on, as Stingy choked and spluttered. "I was worried. You should stop using _Trixie+Stingy_ as your password for everything, by the way, it's no fun if it's not a challenge. So I had a look at your account and saw the suite at the Carlyle and the bill for Tiffany's, and I realised what you must be doing."

Stingy sat down at the table and put his head in his hands.

"I take it she said no."

"She said no. Now please, don't ever talk to me about it again or I'll kill myself and kill you and then burn this apartment to the ground so they never find the bodies. I mean it, Pixel. You're my best friend, but I don't think I could stand it."

"You're always threatening to kill me, Stingy, you know that? You have some serious unresolved anger issues. You need to spend some time on a good shoot-em-up. Want to come and kill some Aliens with me?"

"_What_?"

"Okay, so why don't you come and watch while I do it?"

"All right then."

Ten minutes later he was fast asleep on the sofa, looking like a tired small boy, his hair falling into his eyes. Pixel threw a rug over him, and continued to mow a path of destruction through the ranks of the Alien hordes.


	14. Chapter 14 Sunny Afternoon

**Chapter Fourteen - Sunny Afternoon**

Bessie shrank back into her chair as the man she had known as Doctor Kaye stepped forward from behind the desk.

"You're going to find yourself unable to move from that chair for a while," he said casually. "At least, until I tell you you're free to leave. Oh, and you're also going to have to tell me the absolute truth as long as you remain in this room. Nothing more sinister than a little light hypnosis, old girl, but certainly sufficient to keep you here while I bask in the pleasure of a job well done."

She tried to move, but discovered that she was, indeed, unable to leave the chair.

"How…" she whispered.

"How did I do it?" Robbie smiled mirthlessly. "Why, Lizzie, my dear, you _know_ how I did it. _He could fool you into thinking he was anyone, _I believe you said. _The apparel oft acclaims the man,_ you know, and I've got very, very good at disguising myself over the years. Then, of course, you were _desperate _for someone to talk to. There really was no-one else in the world who would want to listen to the sad, pathetic tale of a dried-up, dried-out recovering alcoholic with nothing worthwhile to show for her time on this earth."

There were tears pouring down her cheeks, leaving furrows in her make-up.

"But _I _wanted to hear it," he said, leaning closer to her. "I've been waiting for _years_ to hear your confession, Lizzie. For the chance to show you that it's _you _who's been the real villain of the piece all these years. Tell me, girlfriend; are you upset because I fooled you? Or because I told you the truth?"

"Was it really true?" she asked, bowing her head.

"Was _what_ really true? Which part of my careful analysis of your shortcomings do you want to dispute?…No, I thought so. That's what really kills you, isn't it? _That I know you so well_. That after all these years of hiding your true self away, it's the man you've looked down on for more than twenty years who sees you are you really are. You've had the power over everyone for so long, you've forgotten what it's like to be powerless. But…" he leaned close enough over her for her to feel his breath on her cheek. "_Now_ you know how it feels…don't you?"

She stared at him in terror.

"Oh, Good God, woman, don't flatter yourself," he said irritably. "I'm not interested in _that_ kind of power. Even if you were my type - which I think we _both_ know you're not - your particular brand of naïve charm faded away years ago. No, no, no, I'm going for a much more - _exquisite _revenge than the simple exercise of physical strength. I think you know I've always believed in the power of brain over brawn."

"You're a complete monster," she told him breathlessly.

"Oh, yes, you're right. That's exactly what I am. And so are you. Would it be too completely _playground _of me to point out that it takes one to know one? But today…I'm going to redeem myself. Just a little bit. You see, Lizzie…it's been so much _fun_, listening to you bare your soul, watching you squirm and wriggle and finally confess to your very deepest and ugliest secrets, and this afternoon I'm feeling _generous_. Maybe it's your lovely niece's influence shining a light into the darkness of my soul, I don't know, but I actually think I want to _spread the joy_ a little." As he spoke, he opened a panel in the front of the desk and removed three tapes from the recording equipment hidden within.

"Three copies, Lizzie darling," he said meaningfully. "The _edited highlights_ of our delightfully _intime_ little chats. Oh, I've _enjoyed_ putting these together. Mix tapes never were my thing, but _this_ one I found…perfectly delightful. Want to guess who I'm going to send them too? Who have you upset and abused the most in our charming little town? Who would most enjoy the chance to have you under their thumb? Can you guess?…Dear me, you're even more stupid than I always suspected…" He took out a large black marker pen and began to address three envelopes.

"Number one," he said, licking the flap and sticking it down. "Sportacus. I imagine _he's_ not your biggest fan right now, don't you? Not that he'll bear a grudge for the supercilious way you behave to _him, _of course. Not even for that whole _never-darken-the-doors-of-this-town-again _fiasco you put him through. But the way you treat his wife…and his daughter…well, I imagine even the Above Average Dimwit has his limits, and you might be about to find out that you've tipped him over the edge. Nonetheless, I _will_ admit he's kind of my outside chance here. Something tells me he just doesn't have it in him to really take advantage of this enormous stick to beat you with that I'm about to hand to him." He reached for the second envelope.

"Number two," he said, writing busily. "Want to take a guess, Lizzie? No…? Well, then, I'll tell you. I'm sending the second copy to _dear little Stephanie_! Now _there's_ someone who _really _deserves the opportunity to exact a bit of revenge…"

"Is _that _who this is all about?" asked Bessie, finding her voice at last. "You keep coming back to her…you kept mentioning her in your letters…"

"Oh, you think I'm in love with her? Well, I will confess that there's something about her that softens even the shrivelled blackness of my own poor excuse for a heart." He shrugged. "But there are all kinds of love in this world, Bessie, and I can _assure _you that I have no interest in squirming my way into her bed. Not since Sportacus has had his hands all over her, anyway. No, I like to think of myself as…her wicked uncle. Her wicked uncle who tries to get her into a corner at parties so he can interfere with her a little, but who still comes through in a crisis. I wonder if _she'll _have the good sense to make the most of the chance to torture you a little."

"She wouldn't do anything to hurt me," said Bessie stubbornly.

"No? Well, you're probably right, my dear, except that she doesn't actually have to _do_ anything at all, does she? Nothing other than listen to you talk. Because once she hears all the _nasty_ little details of your life, once she knows about the baby you aborted and the men you screwed for bit-parts and the sham of your marriage…well, I don't imagine that sanctimonious look you like to give her down your nose is going to cut much ice any more, is it? Think she'll be desperate for your approval once she knows who you are, hmm? Are you looking forward to knowing she pities and despises you?" He tossed the envelope onto his desk.

"And now number three…oh, Lizzie, this is the one I'm really looking forward to. _Your husband_! It's going to be a long, cold night in _your_ house when he discovers how much you've been enjoying seeing him crawl all these years. He worships you, you know…and now he's about to find out who he's really been devoted to. Does he know you used to give it away in return for fifteen minutes of fame, by the way? I don't imagine those once-a-month visits to your, ahem, _inner sanctum_ are going to seem quite so special to him once he's listened to your confession." He tossed the final envelope onto the pile.

"Lizzie, my dear old friend," he said gently, leaning elegantly against the desk, "you should see the look on your face. It's been such an unbelievable _pleasure _spending time with you like this. I think I can finally find it in my heart to forgive you at last. Because now you understand, don't you? You understand that you've spent your life crashing through everyone else's path like a wrecking ball, destroying everything you come across."

She looked up at him with pleading blue eyes.

"But I never _meant_ to," she said at last. "I didn't know, Robbie, I didn't realise about you and him…I _love_ Stephanie, I just wanted her to be happy…"

"And did you make her happy?" asked Robbie, almost tenderly. "That's the thing, you see, Bessie. I'm not interested in motives. I'm interested in outcomes. And the outcome of your existence to date has been nothing but misery. The world, Bessie dear, would be a much better place without you in it."

"Are you - are you going to kill me, Robbie?"

"Well, it did cross my mind," he admitted. "Alas, as I may have mentioned before, I can't. Most unfortunately for us both, I promised I wouldn't. But then again, how much fun could that possibly be? Just think of the _work_ involved. Imagine the mess, Lizzie, all over my nice rented wooden floor…imagine the _trouble_ of getting rid of the body. Much more fun to just…hand over the decision to everyone else. Because I can assure you, Lizzie, that these tapes will be in the hands of their rightful owners long before you get back to Lazytown, and once they've listened to them, nothing will ever be the same for you again. Your days of power are finished, Elizabeth Meanswell. If I were you, I'd go and have a drink to celebrate." He waved a hand. "You're free to go, my dear. Have a _wonderful_ day, won't you?"Bessie suddenly found that she could stand. Slowly and unsteadily, she walked to the door.

"Just one more thing before you go, Lizzie…how does it feel to really know yourself? To have the freedom to put down the burden of being someone you're not? Do you feel terrible, Lizzie, do you hate yourself and wish you'd never been born? Or do you actually feel…free?"

She closed the door quietly behind her.

Robbie sat down in the large leather chair behind the desk he had chosen with infinite care from an antiques store in Metropolis.

"Frailty, thy name is woman," he said to himself, lying back in his chair and twirling thoughtfully around. "Oh, Robbie, Robbie, Robbie, you really are such a bad, _bad _little boy…but doesn't it feel _good_?" The ceiling had a beautiful moulded plaster rose around the light fitting, and he could see traces of gilt on its surface. There was only one other thing which had ever given him such a deeply exquisite sense of peace…

Spurred on by the memory, he picked up the phone and dialled a Metropolis number, fumbling in his pocket for his membership card.

"Good afternoon," he said. "I'd like to make a booking…yes, for tonight, please." He reeled off his membership number.

"Mr Rotten?" asked the voice at the other end of the phone. "I'm very glad you got in touch with us, sir; we've been trying to contact you for two days."

"Is there a problem?"

"Merely a…security precaution, Mr Rotten. I regret to say we've had a potential… breach of medical protocol."

He felt his heart thumping in his chest.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"One of the escorts who works here was caught moonlighting down in California. In the Industry, you know; not Hollywood, but close by, if you know what I mean? Unfortunately he was…working…bareback, and one of the actors he worked with has just turned up positive. We've had to fire him, of course, along with all of the boys who've spent time with him. They all swear they were never together, of course, but naturally we don't rely on that.""This is all very interesting, but I really don't see what it has to do with me," said Robbie, feigning a calmness he didn't feel.

"One of the boys we've had to let go was the young man you've been requesting for quite a while now…David. The one with the beautiful green eyes?""Oh, yes, I remember…well, that does put a different complexion on things." _Keep calm, it might mean nothing. They're tested every month. So are you. Although of course it does take six months to show up sometimes…God damn it, all these years of being careful and paying through the nose for a clean no-strings fuck, and now this…_ "I sincerely hope you're not going to tell me _he_ was the boy caught on camera."

"No, Mr Rotten. But, as they were close friends, and as boys will be boys…we felt it was a wise precaution."

"As you say," said Robbie casually.

"Mr Rotten…I'm sure you'll understand that we have to take the utmost precautions with the health of our clients, and therefore we are going to be unable to place any bookings for you for the next six months. Naturally we will refund your membership costs for this time, and we will be delighted to welcome you back as soon as the waiting period is over and you are able to present us with proof of your negative status. Mr Rotten? Do you understand what I've explained to you?"

"Perfectly, thank you," he said. "I'll look forward to receiving my refund." He put the phone gently back in its cradle and tapped on the table with his long fingers._What are the odds? Not huge; negligible really. He was clean every time. Saw his certificate. He might never have even been with that boy who went down to California, and as for him, the poor silly moonlighting fool…he might have been lucky too, you never know. Just because he was with someone who turned up positive, doesn't mean he is. But once it's in the system, you can't be sure who's safe and who isn't…I could be fine. Or I could be living with a death sentence. When was the last time I was with David…? Just over a week ago. One week gone already, twenty-five left before I know for a fact whether I'm a lucky bastard or a dead one…_

He sat back down in his chair and tried to tell himself that it was going to be all right. When the courier came as arranged, riding an Indian motorbike and dressed from head to toe in black leather, he handed over the three envelopes with a smile and a large tip. But the sweetness had gone out of his long-planned victory over Bessie.

--

She got into her car and turned the key mechanically, not knowing where she was going to go. Her head was reeling with shock and shame. She didn't even want to think about those deadly tapes making their way to Lazytown, or about which of the many, many damning things she had said to Robbie he had chosen to broadcast to the world. And yet, and yet…the last words he had said to her ran hauntingly through her head _Do you actually feel free? Do you, Lizzie, do you?_

"I need a drink," she said out loud to herself. "I need a huge, icy-cold gin and tonic in a frosted glass with a slice of lime on the side. I really, really need one. There's no way I can get through this without it."

_Yes…free. Free to put down this burden of pretending I'm anything other than a worn-down alcoholic who can't stay sober any longer. You've done this one thing for me, Robbie…I don't have to fight it any more_.

She put the car in gear and drove fifteen or twenty blocks, until she spotted the discreet illuminated sign over the doorway. She paused on the doorstep, then took out her mobile phone and dialled.

"Gina?" she said. "It's Bessie."

"Bessie Meanswell, my Lord! It's good to speak to you. It's been weeks, girl. Figured you'd relapsed…or found another sponsor. You been okay?"

"I've been fine, Gina. I did what you recommended: I've been seeing a therapist."

"Yeah? Good for you. How's it been going?"

"It's been going well," she said calmly. "He helped me to understand who I really am…what's been the problem all these years. And now…I'm about to walk into a bar. I'm giving up being sober, Gina. I can't face living like this one minute longer." She closed the phone on Gina's appalled protests and walked in through the door.

--

The courier sped out of Smallville and down the road to Lazytown. Since the monorail had opened, there was very little traffic on the winding country road, and he enjoyed the sensation of freedom as he let the throttle of the bike open wide and heard the engine roar.

_What a strange guy that Doctor Kaye is_, he thought to himself. _A thousand bucks to deliver three packages…_

"Take one package to the Mayor of Lazytown," Doctor Kaye said. "You'll find him at the Town Hall. You can't miss it, it's in the main square." _Well, that one would be easy enough._

"The second one is to go to a friend of mine…you'll recognise her if you see her, she's got bright pink hair and a disgusting little brat of a baby in tow. I've put her address on the front of the envelope. And the third one…" Doctor Kaye had given him an odd smile. "You're looking for a man dressed in a blue tracksuit and a ridiculous hat, charging about the town like a madman rescuing people. If you can't find him, just…fall off your bike or something, and he'll find you. Got it?"

_Completely insane,_ thought the courier…_but a damn good payer_.

--

Ziggy looked at the under-fourteens football team in despair.

"Come on, you guys," he said imploringly. "_Please_ concentrate. You have to work on your agility, otherwise you're never going to get any better."

"But we don't_ want_ to get better," said Peter, smiling sweetly up at Ziggy. "We just want to have fun. And all that circuit training isn't fun at all." The rest of the team murmured in agreement. "Can we take a break now, please? I brought doughnuts…"

"Oh, all _right_," said Ziggy, defeated. "Back in fifteen minutes, okay?"

Behind and above him, he heard the whir of the airship's engines and looked up eagerly as Sportacus climbed down the ladder.

"Is everything okay, Ziggy?" he asked, smiling. He had never lost his affection for Ziggy, whose lanky adolescent frame concealed the charming and clueless small boy he essentially remained.

"It's so great to see you! I'm supposed to be coaching the football team, but they won't do anything I ask them to…and now they're off eating doughnuts…"

"Hmmm. Well, Ziggy, that's not really the best snack when you're exercising, but it's not the end of the world…why don't I bring them some bananas instead of those doughnuts, and we'll see if we can work with them together? If that's all right by you, of course."

"If it's all right?" repeated Ziggy incredulously. "Are you kidding me? Yes, please! Wow, I don't know what I'd do without you…"

He smiled kindly.

"You're doing great, Ziggy. All it takes is a little more practice. Hey, kids, how are you doing?"

As they cheered joyfully and abandoned their box of doughnuts, he felt a faint tremble from his crystal, a shiver so slight that he could almost believe he had imagined it. Instinctively he looked around him, but he could see nothing wrong. He knew it was a warning, but until he was given more direction there was nothing he could do about it…a football flew through the air towards him, and without thinking about he put out his hand and caught it effortlessly. In the distance he could hear the town clock striking one.

"Nice throw!" he said, smiling. "Now watch how Ziggy does it…"

--

The courier pulled up outside the town hall, his motorbike shattering the peace of the square. Without removing his helmet, he went in through the door.

"Package for Mayor Meanswell?" he asked, peering through his visor.

"Oh my goodness," said the Mayor mildly. "That must be for me…thank you. Do I need to sign for it? No? Would you like a cup of tea, since you're here? Well, thank you for calling by our little town, do come again…" he peered at the envelope in puzzlement.

Inside was a cassette tape, and a note:

_For the exclusive attention of Mayor Milford Meanswell. To be played AT HOME ONLY_.

He looked around his office. It was just exactly one o'clock; time to stop for lunch. He could slip home with this tape, whatever it was, and listen to it over a sandwich in the kitchen with Bessie…but no, she'd said she had a lunch date with a friend in Smallville, and would be gone all day. Besides, there were piles of paperwork on his desk, as there always seemed to be since Bessie had stopped working for him to take over what she described as "running our home". He could leave the paperwork, of course, until tomorrow, or the next day, but…

Absent-mindedly he tucked the tape into his inside pocket and turned, sighing, to a stack of invoices that needed paying.

--

"Can I get another one of these, please?" asked Bessie, waving her glass in the direction of the bar-tender. She was pleased to discover that, despite the fact that this would be her seventh refill, her words were slurred only a little.

"No problem," said the barman disinterestedly, taking her glass and fetching a fresh one.

The first one had been exquisite, everything she had dreamed about and longed for all the long days and nights of her sobriety. She had actually moaned with pleasure as the first inch of gin trickled smoothly down the back of her throat, and had held the glass against her forehead to feel the condensation cooling the burning in her skin. The second one had cleared her head, making her feel as if she was coming back to life and light again after a long, suffocating time smothering in the dark. The third was simply for greed, because she had forgotten how good it felt to feel the warmth and the weakness spreading out from her stomach to the very tips of her fingers, blurring the edges of thought. After that, she had been unable to stop; she knew she would keep going until someone told her _no_ or until she simply slid off the bar-stool.

"Have to make this the last one, though," said the barman, looking at her warningly. "The cops don't like it if the customers pass out on the sidewalk." _Especially not at one o'clock in the afternoon,_ he thought to himself, but didn't say it.

Bessie shrugged affably. She knew she could find another bar, where the staff were a little less concerned for their reputation. All the old tricks she had learned so well over so many years were coming back to her now…putting her hand into her bag for some money, she found her fingers closing over the small aspirin bottle where she had concealed Robbie's Demerol.

_I wonder what would happen? _she thought. _Maybe later…_

--

The courier rode up to the neat, pretty little house and knocked on the door. A very beautiful girl of about twenty, with bright pink hair that fell almost to her waist, opened the door. Clinging to her hip was a baby.

"Hello," she said curiously.

"Package for you," he said, holding out the envelope. She took it with a smile.

"Thank you…who is it from?"

"Dr Kaye, over in Smallville."

"Dr Kaye?" she looked blank. "But I don't know anyone called Dr Kaye…are you sure you meant to deliver it to me?"

He smiled behind his visor.

"Is there anyone else in town with hair like yours?"

She blushed a little and lowered her head so that her extraordinary mane of hair fell over her face.

"Thank you, anyway," she said. "Wave goodbye, Emma."

--

Once again, he felt that faint tug around his heart, the smallest warning that all was not well in the town. _Twice in half an hour_, he thought. _What is happening? What am I missing? Where is it that I should be?_

--

"Okay, lady," said the barman gently. "I think it's time for me to see you out." He guided her off the bar-stool and out of the door, amazed that she was still able to stand. "Jesus, I hope you're not actually planning to _drive_, are you?"

"No, no, no," she said grandly, waving a hand. "I'll just pop around the corner to see a friend I haven't seen for a while…and then I shall be taking the monorail back home. Don't you worry about me, young man." Walking carefully to maintain her balance on her precarious heels, she made her way around the corner.

_I wasn't worrying about you, _he thought, sighing. He had a heavily pregnant wife at home, and the knowledge that he was about to be responsible for a small and infinitely precious life made him painfully aware of the endless dangers lurking around every corner.

Bessie waited for five minutes, leaning against the wall and enjoying the sensation of floating in a gentle cocoon of warmth and comfort. The encounter with Robbie seemed long ago and far away…

…_the tapes_, she thought, suddenly remembering. _Those goddamn tapes. Bad enough that he knows, but he said he'd send them to…oh, no. Got to get home. Got to try and find them…explain…_ fuzzily, she staggered back around the corner and climbed into her car.

--

And again there was the tremor from the crystal, the sensation deep inside his chest…but this time he couldn't concentrate on it because there was a man dressed from head to toe in black leather, wearing a motorcycle helmet and walking across the field.

"I think this must be for you, mate," he said, and even though he didn't take off his helmet Sportacus could hear the smile in his voice. He took the envelope in perplexity, noticing that it was addressed to _Sporta-freak_.

"Thank you," he said. "What is it?"

"No idea," said the courier. "I just bring the packages. Be seeing you." He walked back across the playing-field to his motorbike, looking menacing and out of place in the bright, innocent sunshine of Lazytown.

--

"So…David…are you from this Lazytown place you're headed to?" asked the lorry driver, smiling.

"No. I'm just…looking for someone."

"And is he expecting you, or is there any chance of you being a little…delayed?" The man's hand left the steering-wheel and rested gently on David's leg.

"I think I'll get out here, thank you," said David firmly.

"Now, come on, play fair. I've brought you almost all the way into town, the least you can do is give me a little something in return."

"I've just been kicked out of a gay brothel for being a potential HIV risk," said David, smiling. "I won't know for another six months if I've got away with it. You really want to take a chance on my status?"

The lorry driver flinched and put the brakes on.

"Out," he said shortly. David jumped lightly down from the cab. He would walk the rest of the way.

--

She could feel the car weaving wildly as she set off down the road. Fortunately it was a slow, sleepy, summer afternoon and there was hardly any traffic. She had driven when she was drunker than this many times; she would manage. If anything, she thought, the alcohol sharpened her driving skills, made her more alert to the dangers around her…she just needed to keep the damn steering wheel from drifting away from her and taking her over the white line…grimly she pulled it straight again and continued down the road.

--

_Thank God that job's over_, thought the courier to himself. _What a completely weird place. Can't imagine what it's like to live there…bet they don't get too many bikers, that's for goddamn sure._ The bike was purring under him, and he opened it out to full throttle and let the joy of the open road take over.

--

"That went really well, Sportacus…you're amazing," said Ziggy cheerfully as they tidied away the equipment. "I don't suppose you do dating advice as well, do you? I'm taking Marie out tonight. It's the first time in ages she's taken any notice of me, I don't want to mess it up…"

Sportacus laughed.

"I think that is one area you're going to have to figure out for yourself," he said firmly.

"But you and Stephanie are so happy…you _must _have some good tips…"

"No, Ziggy, I can assure you that I don't. Just be yourself and I'm sure it will all be fine."

"But honestly, how do you get a girl to - "

"Ziggy," said Sportacus warningly.

"I'm not asking you about you and Stephanie…"

"Good, because I am absolutely _not_ discussing - "

"I just want to know what girls like…wow. Is everything all right?"

The crystal on his chest was bleeping frantically, the light shining a brilliant, burning white. He found himself clutching his chest with the pain of its urgent summons.

"I've never seen it go off quite like that before," said Ziggy, quite shocked. "Is someone in trouble, then?"

"Very serious trouble," said Sportacus, grim-faced, and ran to the airship.

--

She was on the home straight now; she could see the houses of Lazytown in the distance. She sang a little to herself as she drove, enjoying the feeling of the wind blowing through her hair.

Then out of nowhere a huge, threatening black shape was tearing towards her, and the roar of the engine was almost drowned out by the roaring in her ears. She swerved wildly to avoid it, and was briefly aware of the rider sticking his middle finger threateningly up at her as he roared past, missing her by inches. She barely had time to feel angry with him before the second horror was upon her -

- there on the road in front of her, a young man no older than Stephanie, his face white and terrified as he saw death coming towards him -

- she slammed on the brakes and swerved, but the car was fighting her every inch of the way, and she knew there was no way she could avoid hitting him -

- and then she felt the impact all the way through the body of the car and up through her own flesh and bones, and she was blinded by the sudden explosion of the airbag, and as the car finally came to a halt she was sobbing in the terrible knowledge that she had hit him, and he must be lying somewhere on the road -

- _this is what Robbie meant when he said I was a monster - he's right, the world would be a better place without me - _

- she climbed out of the car, grabbed her handbag, and without looking behind her, ran away from the road. After a minute or so the horror and the alcohol caught up with her, and she stumbled, and fell on her face into the soft, green grass beneath her feet.


	15. Chapter 15 The Nature of my Game

**Chapter Fifteen - The Nature Of My Game**

He came back to consciousness slowly. The first thing he was aware of was the sensation of light and coolness. Opening his eyes and squinting into the soft light, he saw a man kneeling next to him. He had the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

"Are you an angel?" he asked through the fuzziness in his head. "I thought I was going to die…"

"Don't try to move," said the man, holding him still with firm, strong hands. He spoke with a slight and charming accent that David couldn't place, and he noticed with passing regret that he was wearing a wedding ring.

"No…my wife is an angel, but not me. I'm just someone who's here to help."

"You look like a superhero," said David blearily.

"Well, maybe just slightly above average…" There was blood on his hands and all over his clothes: as David watched, he picked up a large pad of cotton wadding and pressed it firmly against David's leg before wrapping a bandage tightly around it, working quickly. "What's your name?"

"I'm David…is that_…my_ blood all over you?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it is. But it's all right, try not to panic, I think I can stop the bleeding so I can get you to the hospital." David closed his eyes, feeling sick. "David, you need to listen to me, okay? You were hit by a car, do you remember that?"

_The little red sports car swerving wildly towards him, the horror of knowing he couldn't get out of the way. The shock when it hit him, the sudden blackness as he slid back down off the bonnet, waiting to feel the road beneath him and instead falling down, down, down into a black pit of nothingness…_

"Why doesn't it hurt?" he asked in sudden terror. "Am I paralysed? What's wrong with me?"

"Shhh. Keep still. Your body is still coming down from the shock of the impact, it's just the endorphin release. It's going to hurt a whole lot very soon, I'm so sorry, I don't have any pain relief. But I'll get you to the hospital as fast as I can. I just need to - " he was still busy with David's leg.

"Ow…yes, it's starting to hurt…oh, Jesus, oh, fuck me, that really really _fucking_ hurts, don't touch it, get off me…"

"David, I'm sorry, but your leg's broken. I have to stop the bleeding or you're not going to - " he stopped. "We have to go quickly, okay?"

David wanted to give in to the blackness that washing over him again. He could feel beads of sweat coming out on his forehead, but he wasn't hot, he was cold, cold all the way down to his bones. His whole body was starting to ache, every part of him hurt, but the pain in his leg was the worst of all, a bright red shard of agony sending terrible jolts through his body, like electric shocks. The man laid a blanket over him, but he was still bitterly cold. The blackness was coming for him; it would be a relief to escape into it…dimly, he was aware of a sound like ship's engines and a sensation of smooth motion.

"David? David, stay with me. Try and stay awake, okay? Talk to me. Tell me why you're here in Lazytown."

"I was looking for someone…oh, Jesus fucking Christ and all the angels, it hurts, it _hurts_, I can't stand it…"

"Keep talking to me. Tell me who you were looking for. Stay with me, David, it's not far, I promise."

"His name's - his name's - Robbie Rotten. He's a client of mine. Oh, God, oh, God, I'm going to die, I know I am, it hurts so much - "

"Tell me what you do. Come on, stay awake, keep talking. Tell me all about it."

"I work for - they call it an escort company, The Bath House. It's really a whorehouse, for boys like me… Fuck me, oh, fucking hell, it hurts, my _leg_…they threw me out, there was a problem with one of the other boys so they…so they recycled the lot of us…they can't…can't take a…a chance…at their…prices….I cost….five hundred dollars…just for…one…one night…"

"David? David! _Don't go to sleep_. Talk to me. Tell me why you were looking for Robbie."

"I had nowhere else to go…and he was nice to me…we got on well…he never told me where he was from…but I met someone in a shop who knew him…and she said she was from Lazytown…there was this photo he had in his wallet, I recognised her because of the hair…oh, God, it_ hurts_, what have you done to me, why did you move me?"

"This way is quicker. The airship is faster than an ambulance. Besides, you were - it wasn't safe to wait for them to get there. Nearly there, David, stay with me, keep talking."

"She was beautiful," he mumbled. "I recognised her from the photograph, did I say that already? She had a baby who looked just like her. All this incredible hair…never saw a girl with hair that colour before…" The blackness was coming for him; he fought it, knowing it would take him down to his death. "Don't let me die. I don't want to die."

"Then stay here with me, keep talking, stay awake. David, I know Robbie, I can find him for you and let him know you're here."

"I don't even know if he'll even want to see me. I was just some boy he paid to fuck him… he told me - he warned me not to fall in love with him…"

"David, we're at the hospital. Now, this is going to hurt but it's the safest way, okay? Listen to me, don't go to sleep. You're on a stretcher. I'm going to lower you down. As soon as you get to the ground they can get you some proper pain relief."

"Lower me down from where?"

"I told you, we're on an airship. Don't worry, I never drop anybody."

"I thought you'd carry me down in your arms," said David, delirious with pain. "I always wanted…to be rescued by a Superhero…" He felt the world spinning around him. Now they were outside the hospital and there were blue flashing lights everywhere, and he saw that there was blood all over the man who had saved him and he remembered something. "Tell them…I might…I might be…positive." The pain was making it hard to speak. He caught his breath. "Tell them I might be fucking positive," he managed through clenched teeth. "Okay?"

"I'll tell them."

"I'm sorry…should have told you before…didn't think…"

"It doesn't matter, David. The nurse is here. Time to relax now." He felt the sharp sting of a needle going into his vein, and then the bliss of release as the morphine flooded through his body like a wave of cool water washing away the pain.

"Is he going to make it?" he heard the man from the airship ask. "He was hit by a car just outside town."

"Hard to say. Might do, might not. Got more of a chance because you got him here so quickly. I wouldn't recommend anyone but you moved him, mind you, but thank fuck you brought him in yourself rather than waiting for us to get to him. You get his name?"

"David."

"David? Can you hear me? David…? Shit, we're losing him…"

Silence.

--

Bessie lay face-down in the grass for some time. For long minutes she lay in a stupor, breathing heavily through her mouth and snoring a little, while a few hundred feet away, David lay bleeding on the road and Sportacus fought to save his life. But when the airship powered into life and streaked across the sky, she stirred and sat up, looking hazily around her.

She saw her car, and put her hand over her mouth. It had come to rest at an angle, the front half on the grass, the back half still on the road. There were deep wheel ruts in the turf, and a small, terrible dent in the bonnet where it had made contact with the boy she had hit.

"What have I done?" she said out loud. "I never meant to do it, I didn't mean to hit him, I couldn't help it." Even to herself the words sounded like weak excuses. "I'm a drunk driver, oh, God, I got drunk and I drove the car and I hit someone…"

She reached for her handbag to take out her mobile phone and ring for an ambulance, then hesitated.

_If I make the call, they're going to know it's me. I'll have to own up. They'll come for him and they'll see the car and then they'll find me. I'm drunk, I can't possibly hide it…and then I'll be finished, truly finished…no. I can't let him die. I have to make the call._ Quickly, before she could change her mind, she took out her phone and dialled.

"There's been an accident," she slurred. "Someone - someone run over. On the road from Smallville to Lazytown."

"Ma'am? Ma'am, are you hurt? Can you hear me? Are you able to get out of the car? Can you describe your injuries for me? Can you see the person who's been run over? Ma'am? Are you the driver? Ma'am?"

Bessie gently closed the phone shut again.

_Now my life's really over_, she thought dreamily to herself. She put her phone back in her handbag, and heard something rattle as she let it fall. Robbie's Demerol. She took the bottle out and looked at it.

"Well, why not?" she asked herself out loud. "How many left…?…eight, nine, ten, eleven. Should be enough. Worth a go, anyway." She carefully shook the tablets out onto her palm. Overhead, she could hear a bird singing its heart out to the blue skies above.

"Let's make a deal," she said to the universe at large. "If I go…he gets to stay. That's fair, isn't it? I ran him over, so I should pay the penalty. Not him." Slowly and carefully, she swallowed each pill in turn. Then, still clutching the bottle in her hands, she lay back down in the grass and waited for the delicious, soaring numbness to steal through her body and take away the pain. Time passed…

--

The crash team surrounded the bed.

"Come on, David, come on, come back to us…clear…and…nothing. Okay, people, go again…clear…Nothing. Again, one more time. Clear…yes! Heartbeat. Okay, everyone, let's get this boy upstairs as quick as we can…"

Sportacus quietly left the room, grateful that he had escaped without having to answer questions about the accident. He had recognised the car as soon as he saw it, and registered that she was not behind the wheel, and knew she must have panicked and run away. But his priority had to be the poor, lost boy lying unconscious and bleeding to death on the road. Now David was in the hands of the hospital team, and it was time for him to find Bessie, and have the hardest conversation of his life with her…

His crystal blazed into life again and he ran swiftly back to the airship. _Looks like we're both off the hook for just a little longer, Bessie,_ he thought wryly to himself, and somersaulted into the seat. To his surprise, the call took him back out to the road that led to Smallville.

--

There were hands on her, shaking her roughly awake.

"Bessie? Bessie? What's happened to you?" Confused, she let go of the pill bottle. "Oh, Bessie, what have you _done_?"

"I hit that boy on the road," she said dreamily. She knew she had heard the voice before, but couldn't remember where.

"I know that, Bessie, I took him to the hospital." Whoever it was had his hands on her shoulders, shaking her. "Tell me, Bessie, what did you take? When did you take it? How much time have I got?"

She forced herself to focus, and saw that it was Sportacus.

"Oh," she said, smiling. "It's you…I thought it was the ambulance crew…I did call one, you know…"

Without hesitation, he forced her mouth open and firmly pushed his fingers down the back of her throat. She gasped and gagged and finally threw up, struggling against his hands that held her still and steady with her head forwards, so she wouldn't choke.

"How many did you take?" he demanded. "Tell me how many and when, Bessie, or so help me, I will do that again and again, just to be sure I've got them all out of you, and then I will take you to the hospital and they can pump your stomach into the bargain."

"Just let me go," she mumbled. "I've done enough damage, Robbie was right…"

True to his word, he forced his fingers back down her throat again.

"You bastard," she gasped when she had finished retching. "You're doing this to punish me, aren't you?"

"Much as I think you have done things to be sorry for, Bessie, I am actually trying to save your life. Are you going to answer me or are we going to the hospital? How many pills?"

"Eleven," she mumbled.

"And when?"

"I don't know, just after I called the ambulance…"

"They're not here yet. It can't have been more than fifteen minutes at the most…I can find nine, ten…one missing. What were they, Bessie?"

"Demerol," she said shakily.

"Where on earth did you get - never mind. I really am sorry, Bessie, but I can tell you've been drinking and that's a bad combination with Demerol, I have to do this to make sure…" and again he forced her to vomit. "There. That's the lot. You promise me that's all there were?"

"I promise," she said shakily.

"Then it's time to get you out of here," he said, picking her up in his arms.

"I can walk, thank you," she said, clutching at the shreds of her dignity.

"Bessie, you're blind drunk and you've been in a car accident. I will carry you, all right?" She glared at him. "And then, when you've sobered up…you and I need to have a talk."

"You got the tape, didn't you," she said despairingly. "He said he'd send it to you…"

"If you mean the package that a strange man in black leather brought me this afternoon, which I had been presuming was from Robbie, I haven't had time to open it yet. I've had other things to do instead…Bessie, I am taking you to Stephanie, all right? You need someone with you."

"You should have let me die," wailed Bessie as he took her up into the airship. "I wanted to die, I deserve to die for what I did this afternoon…"

"No," he said, gently. "Please don't say that, Bessie. It's just not true."

"But I've been such a terrible person, I've done such terrible things…" she looked into his face. "How can you put such effort into saving me?"

"Because everyone deserves saving," he said simply.

--

Robbie was lying outside on a bench in the field just outside his home, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his face. He closed his eyes and imagined the progress of the three tapes he had sent out this afternoon, like little time-bombs, each one quietly ticking away inside its envelope, ready to go off and change the shape of Lazytown forever. The courier would have delivered them all by now. The Mayor was still in his office, so that one hadn't gone off yet, but Emma usually took a nap about now, so perhaps her mother was even now sitting down at the kitchen table with her old beat-box and putting in the cassette he had sent to her…he smiled with satisfaction at the thought of what she might be listening to, right at this minute…

"Wake up, Robbie, I need to talk to you."

"About what?" said Robbie without opening his eyes. "I know it's you, Sportacus. I'd know that irritating accent anywhere. Go away. I'm busy gloating."

"Robbie, I have never yet forced anyone to do anything against their will, but if you don't stop this right now and listen to what I have to tell you - " Robbie had never heard such tightly-controlled anger in anyone's voice before. Hastily he opened his eyes and stood up.

"My God," he said, shocked out of his habitual pose of casual urbanity. "What the bloody hell happened to you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're - you're covered in blood and - is that - has someone been throwing up on you?"

"Bessie Meanswell crashed her car just outside Lazytown this afternoon. She was reeling drunk, she hit someone else, and she was so horrified by what she'd done that she took an overdose. She's going to survive the overdose, but I don't know what she might do next time. But what I _do_ know is that you had something to do with it, Robbie, and I want to know what. Right now."

"She hit someone else? Damn. Well, I will admit _that_ wasn't in the plan, but nonetheless, you can hardly blame _me_ for - "

"Will you blame yourself when I tell you who it was? He was looking for you, Robbie. He told me his name is David."

Robbie continued to look Sportacus steadily in the eye, but his lips turned a ghastly white. He felt his knees begin to give way, and Sportacus instinctively reached out and helped him to sit down.

"Take your hands off me," Robbie hissed. "I don't need rescuing…I'm old enough and ugly enough to look after myself." He bit his lip savagely. "Is he - is he going to live?"

"He was alive when I left the hospital, but I don't know…he was bleeding badly, and I don't know how much internal damage there was…"

"That's _his _blood all over you?"

"Yes."

Robbie put his head in his hands.

"If he dies…"

"I did my best, Robbie."

"Of course you did, you always do…God, you make me sick sometimes. Oh, I suppose you want to know what's been going on? Well, I've been posing as Bessie's therapist over in Smallville. She's been confessing to me for months and months, things she's never told anyone…and, because therapy is merely a mirror held up to the soul, eventually I was in a position to show her to herself. I imagine that she didn't like what she saw in the mirror."

"Robbie, what were you thinking? Didn't you _know_ that she was a recovering alcoholic?"

"Oh, _please. _Do you know what the five-year relapse rate is for alcoholics? In the order of ninety per cent. She was always going to fall off that wagon with a huge crash in the end. I just…nudged her towards the edge, is all."

Sportacus looked at him. His face was full of contempt and disbelief. With an uncharacteristic burst of rage, Robbie glared up into the other man's face.

"Oh, you want stand there and judge me for the terrible things _I've_ done to _her_? And how about the terrible things _she's_ done to all of us, Sportacus? How on earth can you look at me like that, all heroic and sanctimonious, and accuse _me_ of being the bad guy? Don't you notice the _damage_ that woman does? Or are you so completely caught up in your belief that the world is a good place that you haven't noticed?"

"I know there is some very bad history between you and Bessie, but even so - "

"Oh, yes, you _would_ know about that, wouldn't you," said Robbie bitterly. "Well, nothing stays private in the marriage bed, I suppose. But actually, I was thinking about much more…_recent_ events…"

"If you're expecting me to be angry with Bessie for the way she behaves to me, Robbie, you're going to be very disappointed, because - "

"Oh, do shut up for one minute, _please_. Actually I couldn't possibly care less about the way she behaves towards you. Or that fool of a husband of hers, or even your ghastly little brat of a daughter. But, much though I hate to admit it, there is one person in this town beside myself who I _do_ have some small compassion for."

"Who on _earth _are you - "

I'm talking about your _wife_, you complete fool."

"What? What does Stephanie have to do with this?"

"You mean you hadn't noticed? You do _look_ at your wife occasionally, don't you? You have noticed how close to the edge she is? Do you know what a nervous breakdown looks like? You're not so terminally thick that you couldn't figure out what was going on?"

They stared at each other. Then Sportacus put up his hands in surrender.

"Yes, of course I knew," he said wearily. "I have known for months that there is something awful going on between them, that it's been happening since before Emma was born. Do you think I am _blind_, Robbie? But Stephanie made me promise to leave it alone."

Robbie smiled mirthlessly.

"Sing Hosannas. This must be the first time ever that I've actually scored a point off you. How ironic that I'm too taken up with other things to enjoy the experience…Well, since you obviously weren't going to slap that ghastly woman back down into the abyss she so clearly belongs in, _I_ had to stand in for you. To do the things you can't. To fight the battles you don't have the stomach for. Someone has to be the bad guy, Sportacus, because there are things in this world that need doing and no-one but the bad guys will do them. So I took things into my own hands…Oh, come on. You look me in the eye and tell me that this town wouldn't be better off without her. Whose life does she enrich? Whose heart does she bring joy to? Who actually _needs_ her? And now, my God, if she's killed David…"

"You just can't judge people like that, Robbie. Everybody has potential, everyone deserves to be given a chance - "

Robbie held up a hand.

"No, no, no, no, no - what you actually mean is that _you _can't judge people like that, because that's not what heroes do._ I_, on the other hand, being the villain of the piece, most definitely can. And I don't like what I see of Bessie Meanswell. Furthermore, neither will you when you get around to listening to those tapes I sent you…You did get the envelopes I sent?"

"Yes, I got one this afternoon, but what does that have to do with - "

"Oh, you thought the point of my little scheme was merely to persuade her to start drinking again? Well, I admit that was an amusing little _fringe benefit_, but no, what I really wanted was to take away her power. You see, Sportacus, Bessie likes to believe she's a good person. I showed her she's not. And when you listen to those tapes, I'll have showed you as well…and that will be the end of her holier-than-thou behaviour towards the lot of us. For ever. You'll have her right where you want her, Sportacus. Even if you never throw it in her face, you'll both know that you could do. And she'll never dare to step out of line with Stephanie ever again. Or you, of course, but please don't imagine that was why I did it. Feel free to thank me." He smiled, but his face was haggard. "You see, Sportacus, just for once you and I are on the same side."

Sportacus looked at him for a long time.

"And was it worth the price, Robbie?"

"Would it have been worth the price if I hadn't done anything? How many more weeks and months and years do you think Stephanie could stand of that endless disapproval? But, since my New Year's Resolution was to tell all the uncomfortable truths…I will admit…" His face twisted in pain and he hid it in his hands. "Oh, David, my God, I'm so sorry…"

"He might live, Robbie."

"If he does, it'll be thanks to you, no doubt. I suppose that makes us even. Sickening though I find that thought." He looked up at Sportacus. "I suppose you know who he is?"

Sportacus shrugged. "I know what he's done for a living."

"Same thing."

"Not in the least."

"And aren't you shocked?" asked Robbie maliciously.

"Yes, Robbie, actually I am. I am shocked that you paid for something that should only ever be given freely, and I am completely appalled that you could let someone you care about, in any way - even if it was only enough to take him as a casual lover - work somewhere like that. How could you even think of letting him stay there?"

"Well, that's giving it to me straight," said Robbie, taken aback. "No pun intended…do you know, that's the most judgemental thing I've ever heard you say."

"I'm not judging you…not yet. But if you fail to be kind to him at least, if you can't be loving…if he lives, and then you break his heart…"

"He's not in love with me."

"Then maybe he loves the man he believes you can be."

"God help him."

"Let me take you to the hospital."

Robbie glared.

"I'd rather crawl."

"Fine, if that's what you'd prefer. But if you go, you'll give him a reason to fight for his life. It's up to you, Robbie." He stood up. "I'm not going to let you destroy Bessie, by the way. I can't. Not even for Stephanie. But…"

"Yes," said Robbie. "You've got the power now. Use it wisely. Whatever that means to you."

--

He climbed up the ladder to the airship and piloted it back home. He couldn't remember being this tired in his whole life, ever.

Stephanie was waiting for him in the garden. Her hair was bundled up into a knot on the back of her head, and silky pink tendrils were escaping from it and blowing around her face. The sight of her, as always, lifted his heart. _I don't deserve you_, he thought tenderly, as he thought every time he saw her.

"Aunt Bessie's asleep," she said softly.

"We have to go to the police in the morning," he replied. "She hit someone on the road."

"I know, she told me before she went to sleep. The hospital phoned. That boy, David, he's out of surgery. They still don't know if he's going to make it, but they said I should tell you that he's only got a chance because of what you did. You saved him. Just like you've always saved all of us."

"He still might die," he whispered.

"But at least now he has a chance…because of you."

He put his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.


	16. Chapter 16 As Long As There Are

**Chapter Sixteen - As long as there are stars above you**

_For the King of Comedy._

_--_

"Please, Mrs Jones, can Rhiannon come out to play with me?" Trixie breezed into her friend's room, dressed to kill, her eyes huge and dark, elaborately made up with liquid liner and layer after layer of mascara.

"It's _Wednesday_," said Rhiannon, sighing. "Where are you getting all this energy?"

"Come on, come out for some fun. We can go to a bar, meet some nice men, have some drinks, it'll be great," said Trixie coaxingly.

"You mean you'll meet yet another man, nice or otherwise, and be all over him like a rash for a few hours, and then I won't see you until morning. Are you all right, honey? What's been going on with you? Term's not even started and already you've worked your way through most of the talent in town - "

"Life's short," said Trixie dismissively. "Got to make the most of the opportunities while they're out there."

"Sorry. I've got my holiday assignment to finish. So have you, haven't you? Ten thousand words on the nature of love." She watched through narrowed eyes as Trixie winced.

"I can sum it up in just three," she said. "_Waste - of - time_."

"So who's been breaking your heart, Trixie?"

"_My _heart?" She laughed. "I don't have a heart, apparently. Are you coming with me, or not?"

"Not. Sorry. I can't keep up with you."

"Oh, come on…"

"_No_. I want to have my liver intact by the time I turn twenty-one, thank you." She glanced again at Trixie, taking in the enormous dilation of her pupils, the jittery hopping from foot to foot. "And the inside of my nose. And, come to think of it, the inside of my - "

"Yeah, you've made your point, Rhiannon. Fair enough. I'll go on my own."

"Trixie…" Rhiannon stood up and took Trixie's hands in hers. "All right, I'll come with you, but only because I'm not letting you go out by yourself. You're not safe to be out when you're like this. I'm worried about you. Tell me what's going on. Why are you behaving this way?"

"You know me, I'm the original good-time girl."

"But you're not having a good time. Are you?"

"I'm absolutely loving it," said Trixie confidently.

_I'm hating every second of it,_ she thought. _But I won't give up. I won't._

She looked at herself in the mirror. The line of coke she had hastily snorted off the hand-held mirror in her bedroom buzzed and hummed in her head. She had never dipped into the college's thriving drugs scene before, and wasn't sure she thought much of it now, but she had been out for eleven nights in a row and she needed some artificial stimulus to help her keep going. She was determined to escape from the feeling that haunted her: that she had made a mistake that morning in the Carlyle, and missed out on one of the most wonderful things that could ever have happened to her. She had to keep going until she struck lucky.

_I'm not the girl he thinks I am,_ she thought herself stubbornly. _I'm not cut out for that rich, stifling, grown-up lifestyle he offered me. I'm a bad girl, through and through. I don't want to be his wife; I don't want to have his children. I'm not going to be another possession he has to have in his collection. We're a terrible match in every way. I'm going to prove that to him, and to myself. It's the last thing I can do for him, otherwise he'll never get over me._

Unwillingly, she remembered the spectacular engagement ring he had chosen for her, the way it had winked in the sunlight coming through the window.

_And I'm holding out for True Love. I won't be bought; not by anyone. No matter how fantastic the price ticket. _

--

"Stingy, are you coming out with us?"

"I'd rather eat worms," said Stingy shortly, without looking up from his papers.

"You must be the last man on earth who still uses a fountain pen," said Pixel, watching him. "Come on. You've barely left the apartment in days."

"I went to the library this morning."

"That doesn't count. Stingy, even I can see that this is ridiculous. You can't spend your life sulking because she turned you down." Stingy looked at him. "Don't give me that scary look, I'm your _friend_. I'm just trying to look after you."

"By making me go to a bar with your idiot friends - "

"_Our_ idiot friends."

"No, your idiot friends. They like _you_. They _tolerate_ me, because we share an apartment and so they have to be kind of polite. But you'll have much more fun without me."

"Suit yourself, then," said Pixel equably, and left.

_Am I sulking?_ thought Stingy despairingly. _Jesus, that was telling me. I must be behaving like an absolute fool if even Pixel's objecting. _He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain of memory. _But I can't help it. I really don't want to go out in Boston and end up in some bar where she is, and see her flirting with someone else, and know that will never, ever be me, ever again as long as I live…_

The door opened again and the Surfer Dudes burst in, noisy and gangly and high-five-ing each other. Before he could do anything about it, Drew took his notes away and threw them in the corner, while Andy confiscated his fountain pen.

"What the hell's _wrong_ with you?" demanded Stingy. "That's a Mont Blanc, you utter barbarian, if you damage it - "

"It's just a _pen_," said Andy, rolling his eyes. "Lighten up, man. Buy a ballpoint. Better yet, get a laptop. Come on, poker-ass, you're coming out with us, no arguing."

"And why would I want to do that?" he asked.

"It's Big Wednesday, man," said Drew. "Come on! Let's go out and have some fun. Pixel reckoned you need cheering up."

"Oh, did he now," said Stingy, giving Pixel a meaningful look. In spite of himself, Pixel flinched.

"Ooh, yeah."

"That's interesting. And did he happen to mention why?"

"Said you'd kill him if he did, but there's only ever one reason, Stingy. Just forget it, move on and find another girl. I'm warning you, dude, we're going to carry you out of here if you don't come on your own."

"Oh, all _right_ then," said Stingy crossly, putting his books away.

--

At Trixie's insistence, they headed for a surfer bar on the harbour where the beer was cheap and the staff were cheerful. Rhiannon sat next to Trixie and toyed with a beer while Trixie made a brief trip to the ladies room, came back wiping her nose and with suspiciously high energy levels, and then gazed flirtatiously around the bar, catching the eyes and the attention of all the young men.

"What are you doing?" asked Rhiannon.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" murmured Trixie, her gaze resting on a lean, tousle-haired boy with a Mediterranean tan and flashing black eyes.

"What was wrong with the one from last night? Or the night before? Or the night before that?"

_Nothing. Nothing except that none of them are any good any more, I can't get into it, it's not what I want. But I don't know any other way to make him see. It's Big Wednesday, they weren't here last week, they've got to be here this time…_

"Just making the most of the opportunities out there," she murmured, burying her nose in her mug of beer. "He's got a friend with him, look."

"And _I've_ got some standards," said Rhiannon sharply, hoping to pick a fight, because there was nothing more guaranteed to send the men scurrying than two girls hissing and screeching at each other while they were trying to have a quiet drink. But Trixie just laughed and shrugged.

"Suit yourself," she said. "Clearly I haven't."

--

"Where are we going?" asked Stingy as they piled onto the subway.

"Told you, man, it's Big Wednesday," said Chip.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"Pixel, tell Stingy about Big Wednesday," ordered Drew.

"It's a surfer movie," said Pixel. "You remember, we saw it one night last term?"

"I remember. I walked out. Still not getting what that has to do with anything."

Pixel shrugged. "That's all I've got. Sorry, Stingy."

Drew took over. "So all of us guys from the surf club…we go out every Wednesday. There's a few bars that do cheap beer all night, and then later we all go down to the beach and toast marshmallows over a fire. Until the cops move us on, anyway." Stingy rolled his eyes. "Man, you're not showing much gratitude here."

"Is _that_ why we keep seeing people we know from the surf club?" asked Pixel innocently. "I thought it was just a co-incidence."

In spite of himself, Stingy laughed.

--

The young man with the Spanish eyes signalled the barman and whispered in his ear. Within two minutes, a large, sticky cocktail with two umbrellas and a cherry on a stick arrived next to Trixie.

"From the gentleman in the corner," said the barman, smiling.

"Well, _that_ looks lovely," said Rhiannon sarcastically. "What is it?"

"It's a Screaming Orgasm," said Trixie, sighing. _God help me, what an idiot. Why am I wasting my time on this? Why? Because I need him to see, that's why…need to do this. Need to keep going until he catches me. Not having him living his life believing I'm someone I'm not._ She nibbled the cherry provocatively, and winked at the boy over the top of it. He took this as encouragement to slide off the bench he was sitting on and lounge elegantly across the bar to the stool next to Trixie.

"Don't do this," hissed Rhiannon. "He's pretty, and he's young, and that's absolutely all he's got going for him. Why are you wasting your time on this, Trixie? What are you trying to prove? It's pathetic."

"It's necessary," said Trixie firmly.

"How can it be necessary?"

"I'll tell you one day."

"Well, I'm not hanging around for this," said Rhiannon. "Not again. I've had it with this whole performance, Trixie. It's slutty and disgusting, and I don't want to watch it any more. You're too good for all of this. At least I used to think you were. Now I'm starting to wonder."

For a moment, Trixie looked at her with such despair that she flinched. Then the look was gone, and Trixie shrugged and smiled and passed Rhiannon her bag.

"You'll only cramp my style anyway," she said. "See you tomorrow, honey."

--

"So what happened with the chick, Stingy?" asked LJ curiously.

"Don't ask him," warned Pixel. "He'll kill you."

"I will," agreed Stingy, without smiling.

"It's good to talk," said LJ stubbornly.

"No, it's not."

"Come on, man, share the pain."

"You wouldn't understand," said Stingy briefly.

"I might. I've been dumped, too, I met this girl once, God she was hot…in fact it was at your sister's wedding, remember? When she married that guy, that really sweet guy with all the muscles and that unbelievable airship?"

"You know, Stephanie's really _not_ my sister," said Stingy. "I just made that up to mess with your head a little bit."

"Yeah, whatever, man. Anyway, this girl…one of her dancer friends from Metropolis. We got together at the party, had a fantastic night together. You just wouldn't believe some of the things those dancers can do, man…then the next day, she just breezed out of my life. Never called, never emailed, never saw her again. Life's tough, Stingy. Might as well get used to it." He held out his clenched fist for Stingy to touch knuckles. Smiling, Stingy obliged.

_That's nothing like what happened to me_, he thought grimly. _But then again…maybe it is. Maybe it just took me all these years to realise it; it really was nothing more to her than just a bit of fun, endlessly repeated. All this time I've been trying to string all those occasions into a relationship, when it was just a series of isolated incidents…_

--

"So what's your name?"

"Trixie."

"Trixie. That's a very beautiful name." He smiled, the confident smile of a boy who knows he is far too gorgeous to need to make conversation. "And are you from around here, Trixie?"

"I'm at Harvard," she said.

"Brains as well as beauty! How amazing."

_(Why? Why is it amazing? God, I have to stop thinking about this or I'll never get through. Please, guys, show up soon so I can stop having to do this night after night in the hope that he'll walk in and catch me.)_

"My name's Angelo. I come in here a lot, but I haven't seen you before…I'd definitely remember you. I come from Valencia, in Spain. My uncle has a restaurant here, and I'm over here for a year to see America. It's a very beautiful country, America, I'm having a lot of fun." His eyes swept up and down her figure, assessing, appraising. "I would like to have some fun with you."

_(I just bet you would. Well, Trixie, lie back and think of England…my God, Stingy, I hope you appreciate the effort I'm going to for you. What I'm putting myself through to convince you we shouldn't be together…)_

"Well, I think we can probably arrange that," she said, smiling. "But let me finish this drink first."

His eyes twinkled as he looked at the cocktail glass in her hand.

"Do you know what we call that drink in Europe?"

"I think they call it that in America too," said Trixie demurely.

His hand rested on her knee.

"And will you let me…give you another one later on?"

"Let's just see how it goes, shall we?"

"I am Spanish, Trixie…Spanish men are very passionate."

"And I'm American, Angelo. American women don't like to be pushed around. Don't worry, you won't be disappointed. But we're not leaving yet. It's far too early."

--

They walked into the bar in a cheerful, laughing crowd. Stingy saw her almost at once, sitting by the bar with a beautiful southern-European boy holding her hand and whispering in her ear. She looked tired, he thought irrelevantly, the way she always looked when she'd been up too late trying to finish a paper, or the way she'd looked when she'd crawled off the plane from Tokyo…he thought he had long since got used to the pain of seeing her with other men, but this was the first time he'd seen her since the morning he had gambled and lost everything, and it was far, far worse than any of the times before, when he'd still had some hope. The pain hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest, and he found he actually staggered a little with it.

"Hey, Stingy," said Andy, steadying him. "Are you okay, dude?"

Stingy barely heard him speak. Instead he simply gazed at her, his eyes dark with pain and bewilderment. She looked steadily back at him, letting him see her hand resting lightly on Angelo's neck, her feet twined flirtatiously around his ankles, her body turned in towards his.

_This is who I am, Stingy. This is why I can't be your wife. You only saw what you wanted to see; you didn't see the whole of who I am. Please, realise you don't love me, you never loved me; you just got hung up on me years ago when we were young and inexperienced, and you imagined I was someone I'm not. Please, sweetie, because this is the only thing I can do for you now; realise who I am, and who I'm not, and who I'm never going to be. Find someone else who can live up to the image in your head. Let it go._

The gang fell silent, looking from Stingy to Trixie and back again. Pixel, mild-mannered Pixel, who never got angry and hardly ever swore, said, "Fucking, fucking, fucking hell," and kicked a stool over angrily.

She held his gaze for a moment longer, then deliberately leaned towards Angelo and kissed him. Her tongue slid in between his lips and her hand twined into his thick, dark hair as she pulled him down towards her. The barman whistled softly under his breath and began studiously polishing glasses. Stingy stood as if he had been turned to stone.

"Stingy, I'm so sorry," said Pixel in his ear.

"It's okay," he said quietly, and turned around and left the bar.

Pixel looked at Trixie in bafflement, waiting for her to explain. She shrugged and looked away. The Surfer Dudes looked at him blankly, waiting for him to tell them what to do.

"I think we should go," Pixel said at last. "We need to find Stingy."

"But what about Big Wednesday, man?" asked Drew plaintively.

"Show some respect," replied Chip sternly. "The dude's heart just got broken."

"I thought she was his sister, too," said LJ, confused. "Man, but your friend is _dark_."

They trooped back out into the night; but Stingy had disappeared.

--

"And do all American women kiss like that on the first date?" asked Angelo, his hand greedily caressing her arm, taking the opportunity to brush against her firm little breasts.

"You'll just have to keep kissing more of us until you've got a representative sample," said Trixie. "If you'll excuse me…" she slid off her stool and went to the Ladies Room.

_Thank God that's over. Thank God the windows open wide: thank God I'm skinny enough to fit through._ Weary all the way down to her bones, she climbed out of the window and ran to the subway.

_I need to get out of Boston_, she thought to herself. _I need to go home for a few days. _

It took Angelo twenty-five minutes to realise she had gone, by which time she was already at the bus station.

--

The bus took her as far as Smallville, driving through the night and finally disgorging her at the station around ten o'clock the next morning. Rubbing her eyes, she climbed down off it and headed for the monorail. Thanks to the cocaine and the disgusting cocktail, she had been unable to sleep on the bus, and instead had passed the night in a half-awake stupor that left her more tired than she had imagined possible. Her head was pounding and her mouth tasted foul. Her toothbrush was back in Boston, so she made do with a bottle of mineral water and a pack of chewing gum. She tidied herself up in the ladies room, and winced at the smears of make-up beneath her eyes.

_Maybe I should just have let him see me like this_, she thought. But then, he had seen her looking this partied out plenty of times before; the morning after the wedding, the day she had got home from Tokyo, the time they had met unexpectedly at a Frat House party and had left in a hurry when everyone started pouring beer over each other. They had so many memories in common, and such a lot of history. _And now it's going to be awkward for ever and we'll never be close again, just because he wanted more than I could give…_she was surprised to find that she wished he was there with her, his arm around her, supporting her even as he told her lovingly how dreadful she looked.

_It doesn't mean anything. It's just because I'm tired._

The monorail was hot and empty, and she was glad to get off it half an hour later in Lazytown. She thought for a few minutes, considering her options. She didn't want to go home to her parents and face their thousands of questions about why she had come home unexpectedly, in the middle of the week, with no luggage. She could go and stay with Stephanie and Sportacus, who would make her welcome and ask no questions; but she didn't think she could stand to see them together just now, so utterly besotted with each other, with Emma crawling all over them as the ultimate symbol of their togetherness. Again, the thought came to her that she had made a mistake in New York; determinedly she pushed it away…

_You've burned your bridges now, girl. There's no going back._

On an impulse, she set off across town to the ruined castle. It was dank and it smelled strange and there were spiders and centipedes living in between the crumbling bricks, but at least she could be alone there for a few hours, while she decided what to do next. She climbed up the hill, feeling her heart pounding, pushed the half-rotten door open, and slipped inside.

"I thought you'd come here," said Stingy, from his vantage point halfway up the stairs. She gave a muffled scream. "I wasn't sure, of course, but I thought it was worth a try." He ran swiftly down the steps and pushed the door shut, leaning against it as if to prevent her from escaping.

"How did you - "

"It must be Fate."

"There's no such thing. Tell me the truth."

He smiled tightly. "Okay. Then I guessed. I was standing in the alleyway when you climbed out of the bathroom window. I went back to your room and waited for you for a bit but you didn't show, so I figured you must have come home. My car's faster than the bus, so I knew I could make it. Then I thought, _What are the chances of Trixie going straight home to her parents when she's just got off a bus with a hangover?_ And I knew you wouldn't be in the mood to coo over Emma, either. This is the only place in the town apart from Robbie's neck of the woods where the kids don't play, and I didn't think you'd be in the mood for _him_. So by a process of elimination, I thought I'd find you here."

"And why did you want to find me?" she asked him, her voice trembling.

"I want to talk to you," he said, his eyes blazing. "We're not leaving things the way they are, Trix. We're going to talk about last night."

_This is it. This is what you've been wanting, what you've been scheming for. Here you go, girl, time to do your stuff. So why doesn't it feel better?_

"What about last night do you want to talk about?" she asked, folding her arms and raising her chin in challenge.

"Was he the first?" he asked.

"The first what?"

"The first man you'd been with since - since - " he was trying to maintain his aura of calm, but she could see how close to the surface his emotions were.

"Since you asked me to marry you and I turned you down?"

"Yes."

"He was the…" she counted on her fingers. "The twelfth."

He closed his eyes tightly for a second.

"One every night?"

"That's right."

"And did you sleep with them all? All apart from the one last night, of course - unless you had sex with him right there on the bar-stool."

"I didn't do a whole lot of _sleeping_ with any of them," she said, shrugging and smiling. She saw him wince with pain and clench his fists tight, and more than anything she wanted to put her arms around him and comfort him; but she knew she had to keep steadily on with her plan or she'd lose the nerve forever.

"You've always known what I'm like," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "We just want different things, Stingy. You want life to be neat and tidy and orderly, with everyone belonging to someone else and working hard on their life plan. I like to go out and have fun, as much fun as possible, with as many people as possible. There's no point getting jealous - "

"_Jealous_?" he shouted suddenly, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her. "Jealous? You think that's what I feel? What I am is _completely goddamn furious!_ How could you do it, Trix, how could you take something so beautiful and precious and just throw it away like that? How utterly dumb do you think I am?"

She stared at him.

"All those men. One a night. _One a night,_ for God's sake, not even the same one over and over. How many bars did it take before you found us, Trix? How much longer would you have kept going on the off-chance that I was going to walk in and find you?"

"I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about - "

"Yes, Trixie, you do. You know exactly what I mean. Pixel couldn't see it. Rhiannon couldn't see it. None of those beautiful dummies you doubtless picked out of the crowd would have had the faintest idea. But _I_ know." He pushed her roughly down and forced her to sit down on the steps in front of him while he paced up and down on the tiny, dark, damp floor of the castle.

"You were trying to prove something to me, weren't you, Trix? You went out and picked up a different man in a different bar, every night, hoping the boys would take me out to cheer me up, and I'd run into you and catch you at it." He stopped in front of her and glared. "How could you _do_ it? What were you _thinking_?"

"I am who I am," she said defiantly. "It's my body. I choose how I live. I couldn't care less what you or anyone else thinks…"

"I'm not talking about that, you _fool_, much though it eats me up inside to think about all those men touching you, when I'd give anything just to have the chance to...just tell me this one thing. How could you take such a stupid, stupid risk? Look at yourself, Trix. You think you're invincible, but you're not. You're beautiful, you're sexy, you're friendly, you flirt better than anyone I know and you weigh about ninety-eight pounds soaking wet. Could you be any more of a target? Any one of those boys could have been a rapist, a psychopath, or just some heartless bully-boy who could have pushed you around and beaten you up just to prove himself to you. All to make a point to me?" His eyes were dark and flashing with fury. "All to prove to me that we don't belong together and never will? Just to make me think that you're some pathetic good-time girl who I shouldn't be touching with a barge-pole? I am _not worth it_, you hear me? I don't care if you break my heart a thousand times over, but don't you _dare_ take that kind of risk just to try and make me feel better!"

It wasn't because his words had touched her heart that she was crying, she told herself fiercely; it was just the long, sleepless night. He looked at her, gave a sigh so deep it was almost a groan, and offered her his handkerchief. She took it silently.

"How can you be so clever about everything else and so completely thick about this?" he asked her, sitting down on the steps beside her.

"It doesn't matter why I was doing it," she said, sighing. "The point is that I did it. I showed you who I am. And now you know. I'm the kind of girl who can sleep with more people in two weeks than you have in your entire life. _That's _why we don't belong together."

"Trixie, I have _always_ known who you are. No-one else knows you like I do. There are things about you that not even Stephanie knows. But _I_ know you inside and out. How else would it take me about half an hour to figure out what you were up to when no-one else had the faintest idea? Of course you've been around the block considerably more than any of the rest of us. But why would that be important? What matters to me is that you're also the kind of person who would put herself on the line for a friend…just to stop me from breaking my heart over you for the rest of my life." He took her hand gently. "And either you find the idea of me pursuing you so completely repellent that you'll do anything to get rid of me…or maybe, just maybe, it's because you care enough about me that you don't want me to be hurt."

"Wait a minute…you're saying that because I've spent the time since we were last together working my way through every available man in town, that means that we should get together?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."

"That's ridiculous."

"Then what if I told you that I love you?"

She hesitated.

"Words are easy, Stingy. You said you weren't sure in New York. Why would I believe you now? I told you what I want. I want - "

"I know…you want the real deal. And you're like me…I know who you've been watching all these years, watching and wondering how anything else could ever measure up. But Trixie, love doesn't have to be two people thinking the other one is perfect. It can also be two people who see each other, and see all their flaws and their bad points, and love each other anyway." He kissed her hand fiercely. "I don't think you're perfect. I know all your faults, just the way you know mine. I know you're loud and bossy, and God knows _everyone _knows you're argumentative. I know you get bored easily, I know I'd have to watch you every second in case you're looking over the fence and wondering if it might be more fun with someone else. And you know my faults, too…you know I'm obsessive and jealous and needy and demanding and pedantic and picky and fairly humourless."

"You're not much of a salesman, Stingy," she said wearily.

"I haven't finished yet," he said, smiling seriously. "I know all of that…I know what I said to you that day, that I wasn't sure, even though I wanted to be…and now I know something else, too. I know how I felt when I walked into that bar and saw you kissing a total stranger. I realised that…there is nothing, literally nothing, nothing you can do, nothing you can say, that will stop me loving you. Whatever happens, Trixie, even if we get married and five years from now you get bored of me and leave me for someone younger and prettier, I'll still love you. I'll love you until I die. You and no-one else. You've got my heart. It's up to you what you do with it."

"I'm so tired," she whispered at last. "I can't make any big decisions now."

"You don't have to," he said, putting his arm around her. "You don't have to promise to marry me now. But…just while you're thinking about it…" he slipped something onto the third finger of her left hand. "I thought you might like to see how it looks."

Even in the darkness of the castle, the diamond cast little rainbows on the walls.

"Don't try and buy me," she warned. "I'm not for sale."

"I know. I shouldn't have tried to bribe you into it before. I just - I just couldn't believe that you'd want just me on my own - without all the - all the - "

"All the frills?"

"Something like that."

"Stingy…" she sighed. "This isn't a good time. I'm tired and hung over and I'm not thinking straight."

"I know...I'm taking advantage of you. I never said I was a hero, Trixie; I take the opportunities where I find them. Say yes, _please_, say you'll be mine. Please."

She put her head in her hands.

"I don't know. I don't know where this is going. Maybe somewhere, maybe nowhere. But…oh, sweetie…"she put her hand on his cheek. "I want to try, okay? I'll give it a go. I'm not promising to marry you, mind you. But…okay, no more random men in bars. Just for a few months. Just to see how we get on."

"So I can at least tell Pixel we're a couple?"

"I think you can go that far." She leaned against his chest. "Take me home, Stingy."

"And where's home?"

"Don't ask me…you've always been in charge of the locations."

"Then let me take you back to Boston. Ill make Pixel go away with the Surfer Dudes for a few days of falling off surfboards. We'l have the whole place to ourselves."

"All twenty square feet of it?"

"Every single one…just for us."


	17. Chapter 17 The Hardest Word

**Chapter Seventeen - The Hardest Word**

**Sworn Statement of Mrs Elizabeth Mary Meanswell regarding RTA at approx. 1pm on Thursday 9th September **

My name is Elizabeth Mary Meanswell. I am forty-one years old. I am normally resident in Lazytown. My address is No 1, Main Street, Lazytown. I am married with no children.

I understand that I have the right to remain silent. I understand that I have the right to an attorney. I understand that if I am not able to afford an attorney, one will be appointed by the court. I confirm that I have waived my right to legal representation at this time. I understand I may change this decision at any time.

Yesterday afternoon I was driving my car, which is a red MGF, licence plate "BESSIE 1", on the road between Smallville and Lazytown. I was driving while under the influence of alcohol. I believe that I had consumed roughly twenty-one measures of gin in a period of approximately two hours by the time I got behind the wheel of my car. I would agree that my driving ability was substantially impaired by the alcohol I had consumed. I estimate that roughly forty minutes passed between me leaving Smallville and the accident described below.

As I was approaching Lazytown, I swerved to avoid a motorcycle which was coming towards me from the other direction. According to my recollection, the motorcycle was on the correct side of the road and I had strayed over the central line. I am not able to recall any part of the motorcycle's license plate.

In swerving to avoid the motorcycle, I ran into and hit a pedestrian who was walking alongside the road. I applied the brakes but was unable to avoid hitting him. I estimate that I was travelling at approximately thirty-five miles per hour when I hit him.

After hitting the pedestrian, I left my vehicle and passed out by the side of the road. On coming to, I telephoned an ambulance. I am unable to estimate how much time passed between my leaving my vehicle, and making the phone call.

I was taken from the scene of the accident by Sportacus, who took me to his home to allow me to recover from the effects of the alcohol I had drunk in advance of making this statement. I confirm that his wife is my niece by marriage.

I confirm that my husband is Milford Meanswell, the Mayor of Lazytown.

I confirm that I am an alcoholic, and for several years have been in recovery. My recent relapse has been triggered by a series of stressful family events. I intend to seek help for my addiction and have been an active member of Alcoholics Anonymous in the past.

I am making this statement of my own free will. I understand it may be used as evidence in a court of law. Everything in this statement is true to the best of my knowledge and belief.

SIGNED

Mrs Elizabeth Mary Meanswell

_--_

_Dear Nemesis,_

_Well, this was one scheme you didn't manage to ruin for me._

_I'd love to think you had the brains and imagination to make full use of the enclosed, but history has shown that you just don't have a bad bone anywhere in your perfectly sculpted body. So I'll have to rely on other people to do what needs doing._

_Listen to this, or don't; it's really up to you. It concerns your Monster-in-law, Bessie._

_Apart from anything else, I can take pleasure in the knowledge that just for once, I actually managed to put one past you. Admittedly I had to do it by hiding in Smallville, but nonetheless…_

_You might like to thank me, by the way…for taking care of your wife when you couldn't._

_Later_

_R_

_--_

_(yesterday)_

He held the tape in his hands for a long time, turning it over and over, wondering what to do with it. He knew beyond any doubt that Bessie would rather die than have him hear a word of it. But, far more important than that, he needed to understand the demons that were driving her.

He put the tape into the player hidden in the wall of the airship.

"Play," he said softly.

"_When she was younger, I suppose he was like a big brother to her__…__to all of the children, really, but he was always especially fond of her. I thought they__'__d grow apart as she grew up, but they stayed very close friends. And then eventually, I suppose, they, well, they - __"_

"_They what, Bessie?__"_

"_They fell in love…__"_

He listened to it, to every shamefully whispered word, clenching his fists in anger as Robbie dissected the secrets of Bessie's soul, with intimate knowledge and wicked expertise. When it finally came to an end, he took the tape out and broke it in half, and washed his hands before going back down the ladder to his wife and daughter.

--

Bessie awoke in a bright, sunny room where the breeze blew in through the open window and ruffled the curtains. For the briefest moment she was at peace, forgetting utterly where she was and why she was there. Then she remembered…

Groaning and holding her head, she staggered to the bathroom and drank six glasses of water in quick succession before crawling back into the shower, trying to make herself feel human again. She remembered this feeling so well from her drinking days. The sour, dry taste of dehydration. The shaking hands. The dizziness and the craving for carbohydrates. The sickening feeling of shame. But then, she had been able to hide it, from everyone apart from Milford, who didn't count because he loved her unconditionally. Now, everyone would have to know…

"I don't want to have to face them," she admitted to herself in the mirror.

The house was empty when she crept downstairs, but she could see him in the garden, cart wheeling and back-flipping on the grass. He saw her standing in the doorway and tumbled over to where she stood. Without speaking he went into the kitchen and produced a mug of steaming hot coffee, black and sweet, which she drank gratefully.

"Aren't you having any?" she asked him.

"Thank you, but no," he said gravely, with a barely perceptible grimace.

"Where are Stephanie and Emma?"

"They're still asleep in the airship…it's only just after sunrise."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to judge if he had listened to the tape Robbie had sent.

"Bessie," he said gently, "I want to talk to you about something."

She was scarlet with humiliation.

"It's that damn tape, isn't it?"

"Actually, Bessie, it's about me…about me and Stephanie. Can we sit down?"

They sat facing each other across the kitchen table. It was the first time they had been alone together for years; by mutual consent they had avoided it, both aware of the explosive weight of resentment and anger between them.

"What did you want to say?" asked Bessie. "I suppose you're going to lecture me about - about Stephanie and Emma and - "

"No." He smiled a little. "Not this time, anyway. And not about what happened on the road yesterday, terrible though that is. Before we discuss anything else at all, I wanted to tell you something. Actually, I wanted to…to confess something to you. Bessie, I know that you have never believed I was good enough for Stephanie. I want you to know that I have always agreed with you."

She looked at him in bewilderment.

"I know how unbelievably lucky I am to have her in my life," he continued. "I still wake up every morning and can't quite believe that she's lying in the bed next to me and that our daughter is in the room next door. I know how much she has given up to be with me. If she had wanted to continue training in Metropolis then of course I wouldn't have stopped her, if she'd wanted to go on to make dance her career that would have been fine…but Bessie, she knew what I would choose if it was up to me. I couldn't pretend to her that I didn't want her to be with me instead, here in Lazytown instead of Metropolis, or eventually some other city, maybe even another country. In my whole life I have never wanted anything as much as I want to be with her. But please don't ever imagine that I don't know what she gave up, or that I don't know it was because of _me_, because of who I am, that she had to make that choice."

She stared at him, astonished and moved.

"Then, when she was pregnant…I knew how much she wanted children, and I wasn't sure how easy it would be. There _are _differences between your people and mine, not many, but sometimes it can be difficult - " he sighed. "I was afraid that because she'd chosen me, she'd be missing out on one of the things she had wanted most from her life. So when she told me we were having a baby… I knew how hard it might be on her…but she wanted it so much - and I can't lie to you, I wanted it too, I wanted it desperately."

They looked at each other across the table.

"There was something you said to me when Emma was being born," he continued at last. She flinched and looked down at her hands. "You said that…that you blamed me, for all of it; for how ill she was while she was pregnant, for the hard time she had when Emma was born. Bessie, please look at me, I promise I am not trying to start a fight with you." She glanced up at him for a quick, frightened second. "Bessie, _I blamed me too_. I truly don't know if she would have struggled so much whoever was the father, or if it was because it was me…but I do know that she could have died in that delivery room, and there was nothing I could do to help her."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked him.

"Because you're right, Bessie, I did listen to the tape that Robbie sent me. I know things about you and your life that you would never have chosen for me to know." There were tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and she blinked them away fiercely. "Well, now you know the thoughts that haunt _me_ in the middle of the night…the things I would never want the woman who hates me, and who hates my relationship with her niece, to know about. Now we're equal again. If you want to, you can torment me and make my life a misery just as much as you wish. You know all the rawest places in my soul. But I have faith that you won't…just as I hope you will have faith in me to do the same for you."

She was unable to keep the tears back any more. Impulsively she reached across the table and took his hand between both of hers.

"I don't hate you," she said fiercely. "Stephanie has never been happier in her life. The only person who makes her miserable is _me_. Oh, don't look at me like that, we both know that's the truth. Even Robbie could see it. But I will try and do better, I will. I'll go back into the AA programme, I'll try and get sober again, I'll do better with Stephanie and Emma, if you'll just let me try - "

"Thank you and bless you for that, but there is something else much more important that you need to do first," he said gently. "When you've drunk that coffee and eaten something, you need to get dressed so that you can go to the police station."

She nearly dropped her mug on the floor in shock.

"What do you mean? I can't, I can't - "

"You have to, I'm afraid. You need to tell them exactly what happened yesterday afternoon."

She looked at him in horror.

"But when you brought me here I thought that maybe - maybe - "

"You thought that maybe I could make it go away? Bessie, I truly, truly wish that it was possible for me to change what happened, but I can't. You got drunk, you drove your car into someone, and now he's in the hospital and he might die. So, now you have to go and tell the police what happened and accept whatever the consequences are going to be."

Her face was white and terrified.

"I don't know if I can," she whispered.

He looked at her, his eyes steady and serious.

"I have faith in you, Bessie."

--

Dressed in her own newly-washed clothes rather than Stephanie's dressing-gown, made up with what she could find in her handbag, she felt almost human again. As she came down the stairs from the bathroom, she heard the sound of laughter coming from the living-room. They were sitting on the floor at opposite ends of the room, with Emma, newly crawling, wriggling delightedly between her mother and her father. The room was filled with sunshine, and with love.

Watching them, for the very first time she was able to recognise and name the emotion that filled her when she looked at the three of them together. _I am utterly jealous_, she thought to herself.

They all three looked up, and she felt the atmosphere change instantly. Sportacus and Stephanie stood up, and she saw that almost without realising it they had positioned themselves so that Emma was safe and protected between them.

"Stephanie wanted to talk to you," he said at last. "So I am going to take Emma out for a while so you can have some privacy." He left the house, Emma clinging like a monkey to his shoulder.

Bessie and Stephanie stared at each other. Then, with a gesture of defeat, Bessie sat down and hid her face in her hands.

--

_Barbie, angel,_

_A little present for you, from a very bad man indeed. _

_I suggest you listen to it when you're on your own._

_I'd tell you to enjoy it, but something tells me you're too good a person for that…so instead I will merely tell you to use it wisely. _

_I'd tell you I did it all for you, but I think we'd both know I was lying…so I will simply say, with my hand on the hollow in my chest where my heart once lay, that at least some of this was to try and make things a little better for you._

_I've grown more than a little fond of you, Barbie, in my own terrible way. And when I realised that your interests and mine coincided, I simply couldn't resist doing something to make the world a better place for both of us._

_I know you won't thank me, because your conscience won't let you. In fact, I suspect you'll feel obliged to tell me that I'm a wicked person and you're horrified with me._

_But do you know what, Barbie darling? When your anger passes, _you'll still have the power.

_Be good,_

_Robbie  
__x_

_PS Be a dear and don't show this note to your husband, would you? I fear he's already starting to doubt the purity of my intentions towards you._

_--_

_(__yesterday)_

"Stephanie, sweetheart, I'm so sorry to do this but we have a big problem…" He kicked the door open, carrying her semi-conscious Aunt in his arms. Instinctively she picked up Emma, who clung obligingly to her mother's hip and stared curiously at her father with her finger in her mouth.

"What _happened_, what on earth - oh, no…" the smell of alcohol was rising from every pore of her Aunt's body.

"Robbie," he said grimly.

"Robbie? What did he do?"

"I'm going right now to find out. Stephanie, listen to me. She crashed the car. Then - she had some pills with her, and she took them…oh, darling, I'm so sorry. I swear to you, this time I got to her in time. But - but that's why I need you to be with her."

She noticed for the first time that he was covered in blood.

"What _happened_, where did all this blood come from? You're not hurt, are you?"

"I'll explain later, it's difficult and you have enough to deal with just right now…but I'm absolutely fine, I promise you that." As he spoke, he was carrying Bessie up the stairs. She stirred briefly in his arms and said quite distinctly, "I can walk, you know," before returning to her half-conscious stupor. He kissed Emma and then Stephanie, and then he was gone again.

Stephanie looked down at Emma and kissed her round, firm cheek.

"Baby girl, I need you to go in your cot for a little while, okay? No, you don't have to go to sleep, I just need you to be safe while I take care of Aunt Bessie. You want dolly? There you go. I'll leave the door open, look, so you can hear me…" She padded into the bedroom.

"Aunt Bessie? Can you hear me? You're staying with us tonight. You can have our room, we'll all sleep in the airship. I'll phone Uncle Milford so he knows where you are."

"Oh, my Lord, let me help you. I think you might…you might want to take a shower first…"

"Don't patronise me, Stephanie, I am perfectly - perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Despite her Aunt's protests, Stephanie helped her into the shower, then back out again. She found one of the over-sized t-shirts she had slept in while she was pregnant with Emma, and forced Bessie to put it on.

"Why are you doing this for me?" Bessie mumbled as Stephanie brushed her hair.

"Because you're my Aunt and I love you, of course," said Stephanie.

"You won't love me when you know what I've done," Bessie slurred. "I hit someone on the way home…some boy…he was walking next to the road, I didn't see him…I think he might die…"

Stephanie looked at Bessie in absolute horror, but her Aunt crawled into the bed and was asleep within seconds.

In the silence of the house, she stared at the tape that Robbie had sent to her.

_I shouldn't listen to it_, she thought to herself. But she knew that she was going to. She wanted to know what Robbie had done; what it had to do with her Aunt; how he thought it could help her.

"…_It made me feel terrible__…__knowing that she hadn__'__t told me first. That, somehow, everyone else had known before I did. That I was so stupid and blind that I didn__'__t notice she was expecting a baby. And I felt terrible that__…__she probably had dreaded telling me__…__ (pause) What kind of mother-figure was I that she didn__'__t want tell me the best news of her life?__"_

Stephanie felt the tears pouring down her cheeks as she listened to her aunt's terrible, searing confession, wanting to switch it off, but knowing that having started, she had to listen to the very end. Just once, when Bessie, barely audible, whispered about the baby who had never been born, she had to stop the tape for a few minutes so she could go outside to Emma, sitting happily in the garden picking daisies and cramming them into a toy saucepan, pick her up, and kiss her fiercely.

_But you're right about one thing, Robbie,_ she thought to herself. _Now I do have the power. The question is, what am I going to do with it?_

_--_

"Aunt Bessie," she said, putting her arm around her Aunt's shoulders.

"Are you going to shout at me, Stephanie?" Bessie asked pathetically.

"No, I'm not going to shout…but there are some things I need to say." She sighed. "Aunt Bessie, you ought to know that I've known for years you were an alcoholic." Her Aunt looked at her in shock. "Robbie told me, a long time ago."

"Oh, it's always about Robbie, isn't it," said Bessie bitterly. "That man has made so much trouble for all of us - "

"Robbie has done some terrible things," Stephanie agreed, trying not to let her voice tremble, "but then, so have you."

"I - what? Why, Stephanie - "

"I _did_ listen to that tape, and I'd like to be able to say I'm sorry, but I'm not - because now I understand that the way you've been with me wasn't ever about me and Sportacus, or anything I'd done wrong. But I don't want to talk to you about what you told Robbie…" _Because I know that I could destroy you so utterly that you'd never be able to face me or anyone else again…and tempting though that is, I won't be that woman. I won't. _"What's past is past. What matters is the future."

"Oh, Stephanie dear, thank you…"

"I wouldn't say thank you just yet, Aunt Bessie. There are some things that can't be avoided, and one of them is what you did yesterday. Now, if you end up in court, or even in jail, because of that car crash, I'll stand by you, and I'll support you and help you get through it. But I won't defend you from what's due to you. And I won't let Uncle Milford get you out of it. Do you understand me, Aunt Bessie? We both know he could get you off the hook if he put his mind to it, but I'm not letting that happen."

"And just how do you think you're going to stop him?" she asked, with a touch of her old fieriness.

"Don't try and bully me, Aunt Bessie, because it's not going to work any more." Her Aunt saw the look in Stephanie's eyes, and lowered her own. "Just trust me, I _will_ find a way. And something else - I can't let you babysit Emma any more…I can't put her at risk, and while you're still…recovering…it's not safe for you to be looking after her."

"Do you mean you won't let me see her any more?" asked Bessie, frightened.

_I could tell you that you've made it so clear what you think about her that I never want you in her life again…I could tell you that since you have such a problem with her father, I'm not prepared to let you be around her any more…I could remind you of what you did to your baby, the one who would have had pointed ears just like my little girl…but I won't. I won't do it, Robbie. I'm not as good a person as Sportacus, but I'm damned well not going to be as bad a person as you._

"Of course I don't mean that," she said gently. "I understand that you're ill, that alcoholism is an illness. But it's an illness that makes it dangerous for you to be in charge of Emma. So it's not happening any more. Not until I decide it's safe. Okay?"

Bessie nodded submissively.

"You know, I'd really like us to be close again," said Stephanie softly. "I think I understand now why you've been so angry and upset with me, all this time. Maybe I can even forgive it. But, Aunt Bessie…I need to think about my family now, my husband and my daughter. I've been trying so hard to hold onto all of you, I don't have much in the way of family - " in spite of herself, she heard her voice break a little and she had to stop and steady it. " - and I want to take care of what I've got. But if you can't find a way to get along with Sportacus, and accept that I am proud and delighted to be his wife, then I'm going to have to choose. And, Aunt Bessie…I can tell you now that if it comes to it, I'm not going to choose you. I love you, very dearly and in spite of everything, but I'm not going to let you hold that over me like a threat any more. Do you understand?"

"I understand," she said, wiping the tears from her face.

"And you promise not to try and get Uncle Milford to fix this for you?" She could see her Aunt was hoping she would back down, but she held her gaze, determined to be strong.

"I promise," Bessie said at last.

--

_Dear Mayor Meanswell,_

_As your wife's therapist, I feel it is pertinent to her recovery that I share some of the information which she has disclosed to me during our sessions together._

_Please take the time to listen to the enclosed tape. I feel the concerns I have will be self-explanatory. However, should you wish to discuss them further, you can contact me at the address on the top of this letter._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Dr D Kaye_

_--_

_(yesterday)_

He read the note over several times, and frowned at it in complete puzzlement. It had to be a mistake. Bessie hadn't been seeing a therapist. He would return it to the Doctor in the morning, with a gentle hint that he might want to have a word with his secretary about taking better care of confidential information.

Shrugging, he put the tape back in the envelope and was about to go and put the kettle on, when the phone rang.

"Hello? Stephanie! Hello, dear, how are you? And how is Emma…? And how is…I'm sorry, my dear, by all means…oh, my, that sounds serious…"

He stood stock still, listening.

"I see," he said at last. "Thank you, my dear…are you sure you don't want me to - ? No? All right then, I'm sure you know best…all right, I'll expect her some time tomorrow. Good-bye, my dear."

He put the phone gently back in its cradle. He knew perfectly well that, as usual, his womenfolk were keeping the whole truth from him, but he was content to let them take charge. He would be lost without Bessie, he thought ruefully. She always knew just what to do, what to say, how to act. And Stephanie was so sweet and loving, taking care of her Aunt while she was all shaken up after her accident…

The envelope from Robbie lay quietly on the kitchen table.

_--_

"_Can you tell me about your sex life with your husband?__"_

_(pause)_

"_What do you want to know?__"__"__Initially, whatever you feel is relevant.__"_

"_It__'__s__…__well, it__'__s average, I suppose. It__'__s fine.__"__ (pause) __"__It__'__s really fine. No problems.__"_

"_I see. And how often do you and your husband have sex, Bessie?__"_

"_Oh__…__about the usual__…"_

"_And what would you say is usual?__"_

"_About__…__two or three__…__two or three times a__…"__ (sound of sobbing) __"__You bastard, you know I__'__m lying, don__'__t you?"_

--

Kind and forgiving as always, Sportacus flew her home in the airship, giving her a quick smile and squeezing her hand reassuringly as he helped her down the ladder.

"You absolutely promise me that you are going to call your sponsor?" he asked her.

She nodded wearily. She was so relieved to be home she thought she would weep as she walked in through the front door.

To her astonishment, Milford was sitting on the sofa in the living-room waiting for her. _He never takes time off work_, she thought, confused. He turned towards her, his eyes very bright, and at the same moment she noticed that Stephanie's old pink beat-box was on the floor in front of him and knew that he, too, had listened to what Robbie had sent to him.

He caught her in his arms as her knees gave way.

"Bessie," he whispered to her. "Bessie, my darling girl, my love, my dearest. Please, listen to me. I'll take care of you, do you understand? I'll protect you. The police called me, I know what happened, I know what you did, but I can make it all go away. I know it was all a terrible mistake. I know you're a good person. You've been well before, you can be well again. I promise you, Bessie, it's going to be all right."

"Oh, Milford…" she burst into tears, for what felt like the thousandth time that day. _Will I ever be able to stop crying? _she wondered to herself. "You're so good to me, I don't deserve you. I've been a _terrible_ wife to you - "

"Shhh," he said, holding her tightly. "Don't say that, Bessie, it makes me very sad to hear you talk about yourself that way. And I certainly don't care what Robbie of all people thinks about our marriage - oh, yes, I know it was Robbie, I recognised his voice straight away…I'm not interested in his opinions, not one little bit. There are _lots_ of things that make a good marriage. Not just - not just what happens in the bedroom. That's a very small part of why I love you. If we were never together that way again, I'd still want you by my side." He stroked her hair out of her eyes. "Now, let's talk about what we can do to sort out this silly business with the police."

She took a deep breath and made one of the hardest decisions of her life.

"Milford, I don't want you to fix it for me," she said, looking him straight in the eyes. "It's very sweet of you to offer…and I know that you could…but I can't let you. If I don't face up to what I did, I'm never going to be any better than I am now…and I can't go on living like this. I have to try and do better."

"You know they could send you to jail if he dies?"

"If he dies, I deserve to go. Even if he doesn't, maybe I still deserve to go. Milford, I made a promise…I promised Stephanie I'd take whatever's coming to me. So, Milford, my dear, dearest love…will you please drive me to the police station?"

She knew he didn't want to give in, but he had always done what his women told him to, and it was a hard habit to break. They drove the short distance in total silence.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked her as he carefully parked the car outside.

_No,_ she thought, _but I have to._

"Yes," she said gently, kissing him. "I'm quite sure."


	18. Chapter 18 Mad About The Boy

**Chapter Eighteen - Mad about the Boy**

David was vaguely aware of time passing, but had no idea how much. He knew that people were coming in and out of the room where he lay, but could never quite see who. His first wild thought was that perhaps he might have been abducted by aliens, because the people around him seemed to be constantly testing and measuring him with machines that hummed and beeped, and sticking needles into every vein they could find; but after a while, it occurred to him that he must be in a hospital. He thought that he might remember being brought there by a superhero who had carried him up to his airship, but this seemed too bizarre to be true.

Floating between life and death, he suddenly realised that he had seen the airship man's face before; on a photograph that fell out of Robbie's pocket one night. The beautiful pink-haired girl in the shop, with the baby, must have been his wife…_No wonder he said she was an angel,_ he thought hazily…and then for a second it was all clear in his mind and he remembered how he had come to be in the hospital, the little red sports car careering towards him over the road, and the shocked face of the woman behind the wheel.

_I was trying to find Robbie_, he thought. _I wonder if that man with the airship really did know where he was…but did I dream the whole thing about the airship? Can that possibly be true? _Sometimes he thought he was briefly awake and back in the real world, but even though his leg hurt and his head hurt and he had to scrunch his eyes shut against the light, he knew he must still be dreaming, because he could see a series of comic book characters sitting beside his bed. Once he could have sworn he saw Superman slouched morosely in the chair beside him; another time Batman was pacing up and down the room, muttering to himself. Doctor Manhattan was there once, blue and magnificent and totally naked, checking the monitors. On one terrible occasion he opened his eyes to the nightmare face of Rorschach gazing enigmatically down at him. He thought his heart was going to stop with the shock, and was dimly aware of one of the machines surrounding his bed bleeping faster and faster. Then a woman's voice said severely, "Now _really_, I _told_ you this was a ridiculous idea. If you don't start dressing more normally, Mr Rotten, I'm going to have to start refusing to let you in here. Poor boy, as if he hasn't got enough to…" and then he was asleep again.

Then there was a day where he woke up and knew that finally, he really was awake, not trapped in the drug-filled twilight that had held him prisoner for so long. His leg was encased in plaster from ankle to thigh and he ached all over. Turning his head with a mighty effort, he was appalled to see that The Joker was sitting on the chair beside the bed, immaculate in his lavender suit, with a large red smile painted onto the whiteness of his face.

_I've gone mad, _he thought wildly.

"So you've finally bothered to wake up," drawled the figure beside his bed.

"_Robbie_? Is that really you?"

Robbie shrugged elegantly.

"It's been extremely boring sitting here hour after hour watching you sleeping," he said casually. "I had to do something to liven up the experience. It's rather good fun actually, creeping around the hospital while the nurses are drinking coffee in the staff room, trying to freak out the old people who are halfway to losing their marbles anyway…I suppose it's only good manners to ask how you're feeling, but do _please _try to find something more interesting to say than _it really hurts_. People in hospital can be so predictable. If you hadn't woken up I might have had to climb into bed beside you for a nap just to pass the time."

"How long have I been here?" asked David.

"Days and days and _days_, my dear. I've quite lost track. You've been in coma, you know, or perhaps you don't…they thought you might not wake up at all for a while, but I had faith. There's no way _you'd _go out of this life as quietly as that. All the same, it's a good thing you're so pretty. I think you got special attention from the nurses, just because they enjoyed undressing you so much when it was time to change the bandages. You're now missing your spleen, by the way, and your leg's still broken. But apparently it will heal in the end."

"Is the - spleen thing serious?" asked David blankly, wondering if it could possibly have fallen out somehow when the car hit him.

"You haven't got the _faintest _idea what your spleen is, have you, you poor ignorant child? Well, never mind, what you didn't know you had I'm sure you'll never miss. Now, since you're _finally_ back in the room with me, maybe you'd like to regale me with your version of how you came to be wandering innocently along the road to Lazytown, rather than hawking your delectable ass around the fleshpots of Metropolis."

Even this short conversation had exhausted him. David closed his eyes, and felt tears leaking out from underneath his closed eyelids.

"Didn't they call you?" he asked bitterly. "To warn you, I mean?" Robbie hesitated. "I know they must have called, Robbie…God knows you'd spent enough time with me."

"Well, since you put it so baldly, David, yes, as a matter of fact I _did _get a phone call, mentioning that there had been a - breach of bio-security, so to speak. Although apparently you weren't the original culprit."

"No…that was Evan. He was working down in - "

"California. Yes, I know. The lure of the silver screen. Well, I hope the money he made was enough to pay for a lifetime of retroviral therapy if he does turn up unlucky, the silly boy. But you still haven't answered my question, David. How did you get from Metropolis to Lazytown? What did you imagine you were going to do when you got here? While I doubt I'm the Only Gay in the Village, I can assure you that there's nowhere around here where someone of your talents might want to sell his wares."

_I was looking for you, of course_, David wanted to say, but the tiredness was overwhelming now and he couldn't find the energy to speak, so he simply lay with his eyes closed, waiting to see what would happen next. He heard a door open and then a woman's voice.

"Oh, that's excellent, very good news, he's finally woken up," she said calmly.

"How can you tell when he's lying there with his eyes closed, Girl Genius?" asked Robbie acidly.

"Because I'm looking at his EEG monitor, Mr Rotten, and whatever you might imagine, it is actually quite difficult to qualify as an ICU nurse. Now go away, please, you've been here for hours and I need to take care of David."

"You know, Nurse Halford, you won't be showing me _anything_ I haven't seen before."

"Is that so? Well, unless you boys like playing around with each other's infected wounds, then I seriously doubt that…you want to stay and look at his stitches to see how they're healing? No? I thought not. Go home, Robbie, and get some sleep."

"If you call me Robbie one more time I'm going to fall in love with you," he said, his voice coming from near the doorway.

"And if you come back into my ward in one more ludicrous outfit and start making faces at the senior patients and getting them all unsettled and disoriented, I'm going to have you sectioned," Nurse Halford said calmly. "Now, out."

"Don't let her fiddle with anything she shouldn't, David," said Robbie, and then the door closed.

"Don't you let him fool you, honey," she whispered to David as she folded back the blankets. "He's been here every night and every day since Sportacus brought you in here…when we made him leave at the end of visiting hours on the first day, he dressed up as a doctor and sneaked back in here. We only realised he wasn't a real doctor when one of your monitors went off and he started screaming like a banshee for someone to come and see to you. Then we said that you might do better if he talked to you and gave you a reason to wake up, so he started coming in dressed in these ridiculous comic book costumes…he did the heroes for a while, then he got mad and said they weren't working and heroes were over-rated anyway, so he was going to start on the villains and see if he could scare you awake…however cool he plays it, David, I think there's definitely a bit of a love thing going on there… David? Are you still with me, honey?"

But David was sound asleep.

--

"So, let's talk about Bessie Meanswell."

"Oh, I get it. Her husband's going to fix it for her, isn't he?"

"No, that's the funny thing, he's actually not been anywhere near it."

"Really? He gonna divorce her?"

"Not that I know of…just said she wanted to _face up to what she's done_, and he wasn't going to interfere. But that doesn't mean I want to see this one go to trial."

"Now, come on. If that boy dies, there ain't _no_ way she's dodging that one - "

"No, I heard from the hospital. He woke up this morning. They think he'll make a full recovery."

"Well, that's something, I suppose. Okay, so what are you thinking?"

"License suspended for three months. Mrs Meanswell to participate in a recognised alcohol rehabilitation programme - apparently she's in AA, we'd make a commitment that she'll continue. Minimum fine."

"Oh, come on, you trying to make me laugh? I want her license for five years, one year jail, suspended for three years, top of the range fine, _and_ his medical bills paid. This woman nearly killed that boy."

"Please get a grip. First offence. Upstanding citizen of the town - "

" 'Notorious old soak nearly kills innocent bystander.' "

"What?""Headline of the _Lazytown Gazette…_"

"Play nice. Anyway, he's not so innocent…he's got a rep over in Metropolis. Rent boy, apparently. Very expensive piece of goods. How does 'Male whore caught trying to ply trade in Our Little Town' grab you as a headline?"

"Even if he was actually on that highway with his pants round his ankles getting shafted up the ass by some fat, hairy truck driver when she drove into him, I doubt that's going to count for very much with the judge. Come on. Make me a _sensible_ offer."

"All right, you God-damned miserable bastard. Licence for a year. Three months sentence, suspended for a year. Fine of five hundred, plus a contribution to medical bills. Monitored recover programme."

"Make it her licence for two years, jail time six months, suspended for two, and fine of a thousand, plus _all_ the medical bills, and you've got yourself a deal."

"Jesus…okay, deal. Let's get sign-off from the boy she hit, and then schedule the arraignment."

--

When David next woke, it was to the sound of an argument.

"Well, I'm sorry to have to break this to you, but you are _not_ going in there and disturbing him, and I think you'll find that's _Mr Rotten _to you, Detective. Nurse, back me up here."

"Well, you know, Robbie, he is getting better, and the police _do_ need to speak to him…"

"Oh, _you're_ a fat lot of use," said Robbie crossly. "What the hell would you know, anyway? Go and empty some bedpans, why don't you, and send someone along here with a bit of _authority_."

"Little tip," said a slow, laconic voice he didn't recognise. "It's hard to sound impressive when you're dressed in a skin-tight green lycra jumpsuit. Police business; I'm going in there. Sorry and all that."

"Oh, no no no, _I'm _sorry, I must have made a mistake. Is he under arrest? Is he a suspect in a crime? No? So, is he, perchance, just some poor boy who got hit by a car and is therefore the _victim_ here? No deal, Detective McDoughnut. You can come back when he's awake."

David opened his eyes and found a cluster of people standing just outside his room. He laughed out loud when he saw that Robbie was dressed as the Riddler. An overweight man with a lived-in face and a policeman's badge stood next to him.

"Oh, _wonderful _work, everyone," said Robbie. "Now you've woken him up. Fantastic performance all round. I hope you're all proud. And don't you go giving me that doe-eyed look, pretty boy. I just don't like seeing the police throwing their weight around."

"Need some time alone with him, Robbie," said the detective.

"Not a chance, fat boy. I'm his legal representative."

"Sure you are."

"David, am I or am I not your legal representative?"

"Er…"

"See? Now, whatever you have to say to him, you can say in front of me."

"You okay with that?" the detective asked wearily. "You only gotta say and I'll throw him out personally."

"I'd definitely rather he stayed," said David.

The detective shrugged and sat down beside the bed. Robbie stalked around to the other side of the room and began rummaging morosely through the locker.

"Your call. Okay, the accident. You remember what happened?"

("Fruit, fruit, and more fruit," muttered Robbie crossly, still rummaging. "Doesn't anyone send _chocolates_ any more?")

"I was walking down the road…she hit me."

"Yeah, that's pretty much what she said. No other vehicles involved?"

"No."

"You don't remember a motorbike?"

"There was one that went past me, I think…but it was before she hit me." He closed his eyes and shuddered, remembering. To his surprise, he felt Robbie take his hand and, without looking at him, give it a quick, comforting squeeze.

"You know she was drunk?"

"Was she? No, of course I didn't know, I don't even know who she is."

"Remember how you got here?"

"I - " David hesitated. "I'm not sure."

"You remember a guy in blue?"

"Oh. That was real, then?"

The detective smiled for the first time.

"Yeah. Strange but true, right? Blew my mind when I first moved here. Now I'm used to it."

"How about - how about the airship?"

"Yup. Saved your life."

"I know he did…how can I find him, I want to thank him…"

"Don't worry about it, it's what he does. You'll see him. Been in to visit you a few times, but you were out cold. Right. Here's the deal. We could take it to court. Take months, no guarantee of the result. Plus there's the risk of your, ah, _personal life_ being dragged all over the courtroom. You know what I'm talking about, right?" David nodded, and Robbie glared fiercely. "None of my business. Couldn't care less, personally. Doubt it's what you put down in your career interview at High School, mind you. You wanna break out of it, there's help we can give you. Anyhoo…most people don't want _I'm for sale_ announced in the press. And they _will_ cover it. Sorry. So. We can go to court. Or you can take the deal. Here's what they're offering. Her licence for two years. Six months jail time hanging over her head if she steps outta line, in any way, during that time. She pays a big fine, plus your medical bills if you're uninsured, which, believe me, is going to be whole lot more than the fine, and goes into a supervised addiction counselling programme. She fails to follow the programme, she goes to jail. It's a decent deal. Recommend you take it, to be honest. You wanna consult your _legal counsel_?"

"She'll pay my medical bills? Seriously?"

"Yup."

David looked pleadingly at Robbie for advice.

"Legal counsel is busy eating chocolates," said Robbie with his mouth full. "Thank God _someone _around here understands what sort of food makes people feel better. Well…I'd go for it if I were you, David. Court is _such_ a nuisance, a whole lot of effort for very little reward. Plus it's as well to start you off on the right - " He stopped suddenly, and looked narrowly at the detective. "Six months suspended? That was the _best deal_ the Town Hall idiot could cut for her? He must be losing his touch…"

"Makes no difference to me whether she's married to the Mayor or to you," said the detective shortly. "No offence."

"Oh, now we _both_ know that's a big lie," said Robbie, smiling unpleasantly. "No offence. So he backed off and left her to be savaged by the wolves? That's interesting. I wonder what made him - or who made him - ahhhh…I wonder…" He ate another chocolate thoughtfully. "You want one, Detective Porky? No? Well, I can see you're watching your figure."

"Hard to be upset at being insulted by a man dressed like you," said the detective equably. "Be seeing you, Rotten. Behave yourself, he's an invalid, remember?"

--

Stephanie held her Aunt's arm as they walked down the steps of the courtroom, feeling her trembling.

"It's all right," she said comfortingly, patting her arm. "It's over."

"I'm so ashamed," Bessie blurted out. "Having it read out in court like that - having to say _guilty_ - "

"It's what you agreed to," Stephanie reminded her, as gently as she could. "It could have been an awful lot worse."

"I know, I know I did…oh, Stephanie, oh, _no_…"

Stephanie followed her Aunt Bessie's gaze. Robbie was half-lying on the bench in the square outside the courtroom, his eyes fixed on them. When he saw that they had seen them, he uncoiled himself from the bench and lounged slowly over towards them.

"It's all right," Stephanie said, pretending to a calmness she didn't feel. "We all have to live here, Aunt Bessie. We can't ignore him for the rest of our lives. Don't worry, I'll deal with him…what do you want, Robbie?"

"Oh, now _there's_ a question to conjure with," said Robbie, twinkling. "Trust me, there are things that I want that you can't _possibly_ imagine, Barbie dear…but, just right now, I want to make a proposal to you both."

"If you don't mind, Stephanie, I'm going to go and wait over there while you and - and this man finish talking," said Bessie, her voice quivering. Stephanie nodded and Bessie left them, walking on shaky legs and sinking down onto the wall in relief.

"I don't know what you think you're going to achieve," said Stephanie menacingly, "because I am about ready to kill you for - "

"Barbie, that's really not nice," said Robbie reproachfully. "Especially when I went to _such_ a lot of trouble to take care of things for you." She looked at him incredulously. "It's all right, I know there's no chance of you ever saying thank you."

"Well, you've certainly got _that_ right - "

"But I do, actually, rather want to say thank you to _you_," he continued calmly. "Ah, _that_ shut you up, didn't it? But I really do mean it. It _was_ you, wasn't it, who insisted that she face the music in the courtroom? Oh, I know there won't be a trial, I was there when David cut the deal, but I am going to bet the farm that it was _your_ peerless influence that stopped the Mayor making it all just disappear. Come on, Barbie. Won't you look at me and let me tell you I'm grateful?"

She looked up at him crossly, and saw that his grey eyes were fixed on her face. For almost the first time she could remember, there was no mockery in his expression.

"Robbie, you are completely _impossible_," she told him, glaring. "I can't believe I'm even standing here talking to you after the way you treated Aunt Bessie. I should be screaming at you and telling you how awful you are

And yet somehow you're not, are you? Admit it, Barbie, just to make an old man happy. Life is better for you since Doctor Kaye undertook his little project, isn't it?"

She stamped her foot a little in exasperation.

"_Damn_ it, Robbie…"

He smiled victoriously.

"I thought so. And so, in return…_damn _it, Barbie…because now I have to admit that there might be some justice in this world after all. She didn't get away with it."

"No," said Stephanie softly. "I suppose she didn't."

Their eyes met for a second.

"So are we buddies again?"

"We've never been buddies, Robbie, _ever_. And if you do anything, anything_ at all,_ to Aunt Bessie while she's recovering, I'll find a way to stop you, I will. I mean it."

He smiled and held out his hand."Understood. Détente?"

She shook his hand firmly.

"Détente."

"And now I think you'd better get back to your Aunt," he murmured. "She's watching us…and I think she's about to have some sort of coronary event."

--

It was a shock to see the room from a sitting-up perspective; a shock to see himself in the mirror, gaunt-faced and shaven-headed; but biggest of all was the shock when he got to the physio department and realised how much work there was still to do before he would be able to walk properly again. The nurses supported him while he wrestled to support himself on the crutches, sweating with pain and effort. He finally managed to take three limping steps using crutches, while the nurses cheered him on. Nurse Halford ruffled his hair on the way back to his room and told him affectionately, "Not bad for a great big wuss," which he took to mean she was pleased with his progress.

Robbie was waiting for him in his room.

"No costume today?" Nurse Halford asked, looking him up and down.

"Well, I _was_ going to dress as you," retorted Robbie, "but I thought you might be upset by how much better I'd look. Decent of me, I know…now be a dear and give us a moment alone, would you?"

"He's tired," said Nurse Halford warningly.

"He's got a tongue in his head, thank you," said Robbie. "He'll tell me when he wants me to leave, won't you?"

"You just better had. That's all," said Nurse Halford menacingly to David, and left.

"Now," said Robbie as soon as she'd gone. "We need to have a little talk, you and I. There's something I asked you a while ago, David, and instead of answering you just went to sleep. A commendable strategy, one that's always worked for me, but now I need you to tell me. Why were you on the road to Lazytown? How did you know where to find me? I'm presuming it _was_ more than just a co-incidence that you were heading for my humble home."

"I met this girl in a shop," David said hesitantly. "You know that picture you carry? That couple whose wedding you went to? You said they were the most boring people you knew?"

"You met _her_?" Robbie laughed in surprise. "Good God, every time I turn around…we just can't seem to get away from interfering in each other's lives. Never mind," he said, waving a hand. "Boring, boring ancient history. Keep going."

"So we got talking, and I asked her where she was from. And she said she was from Lazytown."

"Hmmm. Top marks for deduction, Boy Detective. And then?"

"Well, I just sort of forgot about it for a while. And then later on the whole thing with Evan happened - "

"Ah, yes…my test was negative last month, by the way. How was yours?"

"Negative. But it takes - "

"Six months to be sure. I know. Trust me, I'm _counting_. Is there any risk?"

David shrugged.

"Oh, for God's sake David, even _you_ must be able to remember who you had sex with and who you didn't - "

"Look, I didn't with him, okay?" said David, humiliated. "But sometimes with some of the other boys, and I know at least one of them had with him…oh, God, Robbie, if you knew what it was _like_ - being for sale, night after night, we got no say in who we were booked for, you know. And at least, when it was with one of the other boys, it was someone you'd chosen for yourself, rather than - "

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," said Robbie, his expression unreadable. "Having _been_ one of those ghastly clients, I can assure you I don't have too many illusions left."

"You know I didn't mean you," said David.

"We'll see. So then they threw you out. Tell me why you came here."

"I didn't have anywhere else to go, anyone else to go to…"

"Rubbish. You could have gone home. I doubt your mother would have been thrilled, but still…come on, David. I want the truth."

David turned to Robbie with his eyes full of tears.

"Don't you know? Can't you guess?"

"Need to hear you say it, please," said Robbie steadily.

"You told me not to," David said at last. "You told me not to fall in love with you… but I just can't help it…you're the only person who's ever been that kind to me…you've taken care of me, you even remembered that I like superheroes - all those costumes…is there any chance that you might feel the same?"

Robbie sighed.

"Ah, yes, taking care of you. Do you know, I've got a good mind to _send_ that Meanswell witch the bills for your treatment here? But I think it's actually more amusing to have her in my debt…" he turned to David, and sighed. "I did warn you, didn't I? Don't fall in love with a man without a heart. And you had to go and do it anyway. Silly boy."

"I know," said David despairingly.

"Do you remember what I told you about love?" asked Robbie gently.

"You said it was all about power," said David. "Why does it matter now? It's pretty bloody obvious you don't feel the - "

Robbie laid a long finger over David's lips.

"Indeed I did, and I meant it sincerely. So, let's not talk about love. Instead, let's talk about…money. Let's do a bit of maths, shall we?" He took David's face between his hands for a moment and wiped the tears from his cheekbones with his thumbs.

"Fifty thousand dollars so far," he said softly. "Then there'll be physio, of course, and if one or both of us _does_ turn out to have plucked the very shortest of straws on the HIV front there'll be thousands a year in suppression therapy. I think at best we're looking at a total bill of seventy-five thousand…possibly much more. Getting sick is a damned expensive business."

David gazed at him with huge, pleading green eyes.

"So," continued Robbie, counting on his fingers. "Seventy-five thousand dollars. Divide that by one hundred and fifty dollars a night. I make that about five hundred nights, don't you? And of course, there'll be interest piling up on the amount while you're still - ahem - off the road, so to speak, because I doubt you'll be up to much athletics in _that _department for a little while longer, and really, hard-work sex has never been my thing. Naturally, it won't be _every single night_ even then, because frankly, who has the energy for that? Not me, that's for goddamn sure. So, if we said twice a week…that would make it about five years altogether. Plus interest, of course. And at my _usurious_ rates of interest, I think that'll take us rather nicely through the first seven years. After that, we'll have to see." He looked at David severely. "Unless you're going to run out on me and leave me with a huge bill to pay, of course."

"Robbie, are you really saying - "

Do you need to check the maths? No? Please, don't cry any more, David. I've known for many years now that I have no heart left, but when I see you looking like that, there's definitely _something_ giving me a bit of pain round about here…" he took David's hand and laid it against his chest. Then he leaned forward and kissed David gently on the mouth. They kissed for a long, slow, gentle time, Robbie taking care not to lean too hard against David's still-bruised and tender body. Nurse Halford came briefly back into the room, rolled her eyes and smiled broadly to herself, and left again without either of them noticing.

"So what do you think?" asked Robbie at last.

"I think you'll find I actually cost five hundred dollars a night," David said, wiping his eyes and looking straight at Robbie. Robbie smiled approvingly.

"Ah, but you're forgetting we used to get the room in with that. Which, going forward, I myself will be providing…so I'm working it out on the basis of what you actually got from that five hundred." He looked down at the cast on David's leg. "I don't think you'd get on well with my current _bijou_ little underground residence while you've still got the cast on, so I've found a house for us to rent while you finish recuperating. We can add the costs of that to the overall bill, by the way, and I can see another six months or so right there. Oh, and there are a few ground rules we need to get clear. First, I like my own space, okay? You're going to have to find something to do with your days once you're back on your feet, because you're not going to hang around my neck all day while I'm busy."

"What do you actually do, anyway?" asked David curiously.

"I'm a genius. An evil one, naturally."

"And that's a job?"

"More of a…calling. Second. If you're going to cheat, and statistically most people do, have the decency to do it discreetly. I'll extend you the same courtesy."

"I _wouldn't_ - not _ever_ - "

"Now, let's just remember how we met, okay? And not go making any foolish promises we can't keep. I warned you I'm a bad person, David, and bad people are cynical. If I catch you, I'll kill you. So I advise you not to get caught. Thirdly, I don't do Public Displays of Affection. Of any kind. Don't even think about trying to kiss me or hold my hand where other people can see, or you'll see my ugly side. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Lastly…you're going to find out sooner or later, so I might as well tell you now; I'm not exactly the most upstanding citizen of this fine little town. In fact, I'm really sort of…"

"A supervillain?" asked David with a smile.

"Hmm. Well, to quote my _second _least favourite person in the world…maybe just a _slightly_ above average one. You might find yourself having to make excuses for me on a fairly regular basis. And please don't imagine that I'm going to reform for your sake, because I'm not. What you see is what you get. Still want to give it a whirl?"

David looked at him with his huge, bewitching green eyes.

"Absolutely."

"Really? Good Lord. You're a complete idiot, David, but I suppose you'll do." Robbie closed the door and carefully put a chair under the handle.

"What are you doing?" asked David.

Robbie grinned wickedly.

"I think it's time Doctor Rottenstein had a little look at the patient, don't you?"


	19. Epilogue In My End

**Epilogue - In my End is my Beginning**

Emma's first birthday party was an strange, sweet occasion, with couples clustered like planets, slowly orbiting around her small and imperious presence. Closest to her were Stephanie and Sportacus, smiling whenever they caught each other's eye, their movements as synchronised as a well-rehearsed dance, brushing gently against each other as they passed around the rest of their guests. Only slightly further away were Bessie and Milford. Bessie, who had only realised now she had lost it how much she had enjoyed having Emma all to herself, hovered longingly around her, with Stephanie watching her like a hawk from beneath her eyelashes. Milford, sighing, kept a eye on them both while appearing to notice nothing, and wished things could be different, but knew his niece had made the only choice she could. Stingy and Trixie clashed and sparkled brilliantly, drawing the eyes and the laughter of all of their friends, with Pixel a semi-detached satellite travelling peacefully in their wake. An asteroid belt of tweenies and teenagers rattling joyfully around everyone else; all of the teenage girls watched Sportacus and sighed, and a few of the teenage boys watched Stephanie and blushed. Ziggy and Marie held hands shyly and weren't quite sure how to behave. Robbie and David hovered at the very edges of the party, Robbie out of apathy and distaste, David out of shyness.

The November sun was shining, and they were all outside in the garden, enjoying the unexpected late Autumn warmth. Stephanie dashed back into the kitchen to fetch more sandwiches, and squeaked in surprise as two strong hands seized her firmly around her waist and pulled her into the space behind the open kitchen door.

"You look completely beautiful," Sportacus whispered in her ear as he kissed her.

"You know there's a whole garden full of people out there," she protested half-heartedly.

"Yes, sweetheart, I know. And absolutely none of them are in here," he agreed, holding her tightly against him.

"For the moment," she said, sighing with pleasure as he stroked the back of her neck gently. Even as he kissed her again, his mouth warm and eager against hers, Trixie wandered into the kitchen. Hastily they disentangled themselves and Sportacus left them alone.

"You two are exactly like a couple of teenagers," said Trixie severely. "Don't you ever get tired of each other?"

"And you and Stingy are exactly like an old married couple," retorted Stephanie. "Don't you ever stop arguing?"

Trixie shrugged.

"It keeps him on his toes," she said, smiling to herself.

"But seriously, Trixie…you do love him, don't you? Because if you're not sure, you shouldn't be getting married."

Trixie blushed a deep rosy pink.

"Who said we're getting married, Pinkie?"

"So you're wearing a diamond ring Stingy gave you on your engagement finger, but you're not planning on getting married?"

Trixie's face was scarlet.

"Yes," she said suddenly.

"Yes, you're getting married? Yes, you're wearing the ring without any intentions?"

"Yes, I love him. Okay? But don't go around telling everyone."

"Why not?" asked Stephanie, laughing.

"I don't want him feeling too sure he's got me," said Trixie, so poker-faced that Stephanie couldn't tell whether her friend was joking or not.

"Like Robbie," she said thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you noticed? I think he's absolutely besotted with David, but he's convinced that something awful will happen if he admits it. Now, who does that remind me of?"

Laughing, they returned to the party. Robbie had disappeared from view, and David was on his own, leaning shyly against the wall absent-mindedly picking at the edge of the cast which still encased his leg from ankle to thigh.

"I'll catch you later, Trixie," murmured Stephanie, seeing him.

"No worries, Pinkie."

She leaned against the wall next to him, and smiled tentatively.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him. "How's the leg?"

"It's getting better, thanks. It doesn't hurt so much any more, and I can get this thing off in a couple of weeks. Then it'll just be a lot of physio and waiting for the muscles to start working again…it could have been a lot worse, I suppose." He looked at her sideways, awkward and shy.

"Don't you think it's time we cleared the air?" she asked him, laughing.

"I know. We're probably not even supposed to be speaking to each other, are we?" David asked, laughing along with her. "My partner did terrible things to the inside of your Aunt's head - "

"Well, he did, but then he sort of was provoked, I suppose. Not that I'd ever admit that to him. And then she did run you over, which is one for you to hold against me. And then, my husband and your partner - "

"Are you absolutely sure they hate each other?" asked David suddenly.

"Oh, Sportacus doesn't hate anybody," said Stephanie.

"He might do, if they did anything to hurt you…I've seen the way he looks at you…"

She blushed.

"Well, Robbie's no better with you," she said, half-accusingly.

"He won't even let me hold his hand in front of other people."

"He'll get better with time," said Stephanie.

"It's okay," said David, smiling to himself. "I like him just the way he is." He looked at her. "You know, Stephanie, Robbie might hate Sportacus, but he's definitely got a - "

"Oh - I've got to go, sorry - " Stephanie ran across the lawn to where Emma, clutching a doughnut and with raspberry jam around her mouth in a wide, thick band, was about to pull herself up on Stingy's trouser-leg.

"…soft spot a mile wide for you," finished David, watching her go.

Stingy reached down and caught Emma up in his arms just as she was about to do irreparable damage to his suit.

"Mine," he said gravely, taking the doughnut out of her hands and eating it. She stared at him in shock, her face crumpling, so he hastily replaced the doughnut with a slice of apple from the plate behind him. Then he wiped her jammy face with his handkerchief, and sat down with her on a handy chair so he could bounce her up and down on his knee. Stephanie mouthed "Thanks," and backed away again. Emma giggled and squealed, slapping joyfully at his face with soft, chubby hands.

"Don't let Trixie see you doing that," warned Pixel over the top of the circuit board he was surreptitiously soldering. "She'll accuse you of getting ideas and thinking too far ahead."

Stingy shrugged.

"I still can't believe it was going on all those years and you never told me," Pixel continued reproachfully. "I thought you were my best friend."

"You are my best friend," said Stingy. "Ow! Emma, you're a monster, do you know that? Yes. Monster. That's you I'm talking about. Don't you look at me with those huge blue eyes, gorgeous girl, you're still a little horror…"

"So why didn't you ever tell me about it?"

Stingy looked at him over the top of Emma's head.

"What would you have said if I had told you?" Pixel shrugged. "Well, there you are, then."

"Are you sure you can cope with her?" Pixel asked tentatively. "Don't get me wrong, she's one of my oldest friends, I love her to bits. But - isn't she just a bit - a bit - "

"High maintenance?" Stingy laughed. "I've never worked so hard at anything in my life. Maybe that's why I love her so much…she keeps me on my toes. I can't imagine ever being bored with her. She keeps me honest…"

"Honest? Is that what you call it?"

"Why, what would you call it?"

"No point asking me," said Pixel mildly. "I don't know anything about girls, you know that. Even Ziggy does better than I do."

"Is there actually anyone you're interested in?" asked Stingy.

Pixel thought.

"I've always had kind of a thing for Lara," he said at last.

"Lara? Who's she? Oh, no, Pixel, no, _please_ tell me you're not talking about the Lara I think you're talking about…she's not even _real_/ You know that, don't you?"

"I know. I just like her. She makes me happy. What's wrong with that?"

Stingy rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Emma, we're going to find someone more normal for you to talk to."

On his way over to Ziggy and Marie, he was intercepted by Bessie, who held her arms out to Emma so hopefully that Stingy couldn't do anything but relinquish her.

"Come here, baby girl," Bessie cooed softly, tickling Emma's cheek. She stroked the soft pink locks away from her face, hesitated, then tucked them behind her ears so that the pointed tips showed.

"After all," she said to Stingy, "It's not as if it really matters, is it?"

"As if what really matters, Mrs Meanswell?" asked Stingy, politely but pointedly.

"Nothing," said Bessie, meekly.

"Do you want me to take her, Aunt Bessie?" Stephanie appeared at Bessie's elbow.

"No, it's fine, really," said Bessie, clutching Emma. "We're just having a few minutes, aren't we, beautiful girl?" She kissed Emma's cheek and held onto her pleadingly. Stephanie patted her Aunt's arm kindly, and left them alone again. Stingy followed her to the edge of the party.

"You're too nice to her," he said in an undertone. "If she'd behaved to me the way she behaved to you - " Stephanie looked at him and smiled seriously. "Oh, all right, I'm sorry. I'm being cynical. I'll shut up and let you get on with being a doormat. What do you make of Robbie's…friend?"

"He's very sweet," said Stephanie. "And he seems really in love with Robbie."

They looked over to Robbie and David. Sportacus was helping David to sit down with his leg propped up on another chair in front of him, while Robbie watched and moodily unfastened the cap of his hip-flask with his teeth.

"God help him," said Stingy fervently.

"Have you and Trixie set a date yet?" asked Stephanie mischievously.

"Oh, ha ha ha. Point taken. But - do you know what? I've never been happier…even if she does drive me insane half the time…you know, Stephanie, if it hadn't been for what you said to me - if you hadn't told me to follow my heart - "

"What are friends for?" she asked him.

--

They all clustered around the table and sang as Stephanie carried the cake with its single candle over to Emma, sitting proud and bewildered in her high chair. Stephanie helped her to blow it out, and everyone applauded when Emma seized a handful of icing from the top and shovelling it into her mouth.

Robbie caught up with her on her way into the kitchen to slice the cake.

"So, Barbie," he murmured in her ear as he steered her by her elbow into the kitchen. "I bet you never thought you'd get all of us together in one room again, did you?"

"I don't know what you mean, Robbie," she said firmly.

"Yes, you do. Me and Bessie…_you_ and Bessie, come to think of it, or Bessie and David. Stingy and Trixie. Me and your husband…_did _you show him that note, by the way? I notice you're still saving that bourbon I bought you last year."

"_What_? How did you - " the bottle was in the bottom of her underwear drawer in her bedroom upstairs.

"Don't worry, Barbie, I didn't take anything…somehow I don't think any of it would fit me." He winked at her.

"You're completely disgusting," said Stephanie, waving the cake-knife threateningly. "Go away. Go on, get out of this kitchen _right now_."

"I wonder where we'll all be this time next year?" Robbie asked musingly. "Well, for now I suppose I'll just have to play along with this pleasant little fiction that everyone's friends and no-one remembers…I salute you, Barbie darling. I really do. You're the only one I know who could pull it off." He tipped his glass at her, and vanished. Going out of the door, he passed Sportacus on the way in. They eyed each other suspiciously as they passed, carefully avoiding any contact.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" he asked, looking searchingly at Stephanie.

"Just Robbie being Robbie," she said, shrugging. He laughed and kissed her.

And outside in the garden, Emma sat regally in her high chair, surrounded by people who were partners and spouses and lovers and friends, if not for ever, then for now at least, and smiled and gurgled to herself. Like planets they orbited around her: Sportacus and Stephanie; Bessie and Milford; Stingy and Trixie, with Pixel in tow; Ziggy and Marie; Robbie and David.

_In my end is my beginning…_


	20. Chapter 20 Author's Note

**Bigger, longer and uncut**

Hello? Is it you? You're still with me after all that? _Really_?

Wow. I'm totally, totally flattered. Thank you so much. I just checked my stats and realised this is now nearly eighty thousand words long. Truly… I'm sorry about that. It wasn't meant to be this sprawling and enormous. It just kind of…is. I don't know.

"On the Flip Side" is a companion piece to "Theory of Everything", although hopefully it stands on its own merits too - because it would be a bit bloody much to expect you to have to wade through _another _fifty thousand words of mine before this lot started making any sense. It came out of the odd tension between Stingy and Trixie that appeared while I was writing the wedding chapter of "Theory", and escalated. I went back through my notes and realised that Trixie referred to a brief relationship between them the year before "Theory" begins. _Hmmm_, I thought. _Wonder how hard it would be to sustain a long-term relationship when your best friend is in love with a superhero? That must set a hell of a standard to follow._

But really, there's only so much time you can spend on a will-they-won't-they casual-sex relationship before people get really bored with them and you, and switch off. So I thought I'd go back and unpick the Bessie/Robbie relationship a little bit more, because it was something I didn't feel I'd really got to the bottom of in "Theory". And then, out of nowhere, Dr Kaye was there, with this really evil plan…

(Just to clear something up, by the way. Doctor Richard Kaye Doctor Dick Kaye Doctor D Kaye. I know it's The Rules that Robbie always uses some sort of Rotten-based pseudonym, and while it might have been a bit too subtle, I don't want anyone thinking I cheated on this very basic requirement.)

I've had more than a few unexpected questions as a result of "Flip Side", so just to clear a few points up: I'm not a therapist (although thank you, I'm flattered) an alcoholic (not so keen on that one), a sad angry loner who does nothing but write LT fanfics all day (I do have a real job, I promise, and it pays real money and everything) or a man (no, I have no idea either). I also don't own Lazytown. But I did go to school with a boy who was killed by a drunk driver. Then some years later, I worked with a sweet and charming guy in his thirties, who was wrestling with alcoholism. Over the few years that our paths crossed, he lost his job, his wife, his children, his liberty and ultimately his life to alcohol. While these two experiences make me about as much like an expert as they make me like an Olympic athlete, they do at least give a pleasing symmetry to the depths of my ignorance on the subject, and made me think hard about addiction and its terrible price.

A huge thank you to all my regular reviewers - Melissa Ivory, MASC, OnlyBlueForever, TheAnonymousMouse and Anea Lamia - especially around the middle section, where I was really losing my way and was about to give up in despair. And extra special thanks this time to Melissa, who inspired "I'm Not In Love" by insisting I be nice to Robbie for a change, and MASC, who inspired "As Long As There Are Stars Above You" by claiming that the fabric of the universe would crumble (or something) if I didn't sort out Stingy and Trixie.

I'm finishing with a play-list, because MASC and Melissa both did them, and almost all my chapter titles (apart from the tape extracts) are lyrics- usually titles - from songs.

Let's all keep rockin' and rollin' and making better movies…

Kitty

Chapter One - "Glad I crashed the Wedding" by Busted

Chapter Two - "Teenage Kicks" by The Undertones

Chapter Three - "Tainted Love" by Soft Cell

Chapter Five - "I Don't Mind The Rain" by Jarvis Cocker

Chapter Six - "I'm Not In Love" by 10cc

Chapter Eight - "Baby's Coming Back" by Jarvis Cocker

Chapter Nine - "A Little Less Conversation" by Elvis

Chapter Eleven - "Tainted Love" again, but this time the cover by Marilyn Manson

Chapter Thirteen - "Just a Perfect Day" by Lou Reed

Chapter Fourteen - "Sunny Afternoon" by The Kinks

Chapter Fifteen - "Sympathy for the Devil" by The Rolling Stones

Chapter Sixteen - "God Only Knows" by The Beach Boys

Chapter Seventeen - "Sorry Seems To Be…" by Elton John

Chapter Eighteen - "Mad About The Boy" by Dinah Washington

Chapter Nineteen - is not a song at all, but a quotation from "The Waste Land" by T S Eliot. What can I tell you…I was an English Lit student.


End file.
